THE  SCARLET  LETTER 

BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE 

WITH  AN   INTRODUCTION 

BY  GEORGE  PARSONS 

LATHROP 


SALEM  EDITION 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 


'803 


COPYRIGHT,   1850, 

BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTHORNE. 


COPYKIOHT,  1878, 


COPYRIGHT,  1883, 
HOUGHTON,  MTFFLIN  <ft  CO 


^4//  rights  reserved. 
October  22,  1874. 


UW  Riverside  Frew,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  8.  A. 
Printed  by  H.  0.  Hou^hton  &  Company. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

PS  lofco 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

"  THE  Scarlet  Letter  "  was  the  first  sustained  work 
of  fiction  completed  by  Hawthorne  after  he  had  become 
known  to  the  public  through  the  "  Twice-Told  Tales  ;  " 
and  was  the  first  among  his  books  which  attained  pop* 
ularity.  He  had  meanwhile  published  "  Grandfather's 
Chair,"  for  children,  and  his  "  Mosses  from  an  Old 
Manse."  But  it  was  not  until  he  once  more  took  up 
his  residence  in  Salem,  while  occupying  the  post  of  sur 
veyor  at  the  Custom  House  of  that  port,  that  he  began 
to  hear  —  as  he  expressed  it  to  a  friend  —  "  a  romance 
growling  in  his  mind."  This  romance  was  the  now 
world-famous  one,  which  is  again  offered  to  readers  in 
the  present  volume.  It  was  begun  some  time  in  the 
winter  of  1849-50,  after  the  author  had  been  deprived 
of  his  official  situation.  He  completed  the  book  Feb 
ruary  3,  1850,  and  on  the  following  day  wrote  to  Ho 
ratio  Bridge  :  — 

"  I  finished  my  book  only  yesterday,  one  end  being 
in  the  press  in  Boston,  while  the  other  was  in  my  head 
here  in  Salem  ;  so  that,  as  you  see,  the  story  is  at  leas* 

M103731 


Vl  INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 

fourteen  miles  long.  .  .  .  Some  portions  of  the  book 
are  powerfully  written  ;  but  my  writings  do  not,  nor 
ever  will,  appeal  to  the  broadest  class  of  sympathies, 
and  therefore  will  not  attain  a  very  wide  popularity. 
Some  like  them  very  much  ;  others  care  nothing  for 
them  and  see  nothing  in  them.  There  is  an  introduc 
tion  to  this  book,  giving  a  sketch  of  my  Custom  House 
life,  with  an  imaginative  touch  here  and  there,  which  i 
will  perhaps  be  more  attractive  than  the  main  narra- 
tive.  The  latter  lacks  sunshine." 

So  much,  indeed,  did  the  gravity  and  gloom  of  the 
situation  in  which  he  had  placed  Hester  and  Dimmes- 
dale  weigh  upon  him,  that  he  described  himself  as  hav 
ing  had  "  a  knot  of  sorrow  "  in  his  forehead  all  winter. 
Like  Balzac,  he  secluded  himself  while  writing  a  ro 
mance,  and,  in  fact,  saw  scarcely  any  one.  It  was 
noticed  that  he  grew  perceptibly  thinner  at  such  times  ; 
and  how  strongly  the  fortunes  of  his  imaginary  progeny 
affected  him  is  well  shown  by  a  reminiscence  in  the 
"  English  Note-Books  "  (September  14,  1855)  :  — 

"  Speaking  of  Thackeray,  I  cannot  but  wonder  at  his 
coolness  in  respect  to  his  own  pathos,  and  compare  it 
with  my  emotions  when  I  read  the  last  scene  of  *  The 
Scarlet  Letter  '  to  my  wife,  just  after  writing  it  —  tried 
to  read  it,  rather,  for  my  voice  swelled  and  heaved,  as 
if  I  were  tossed  up  and  down  on  an  ocean  as  it  subsides  < 
after  a  storm." 

Nor  was  it  only  while  in  the  act  of  composition  with 
the  pen  that  his  fictions  thus  occupied  all  his  faculties* 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE.  Vll 

During  the  time  that  he  was  engaged  with  "  The  Scar 
let  Letter,"  he  would  often  become  oblivious  of  his  sur 
roundings  and  absorbed  in  reverie.  One  day  while  in 
this  mood  he  took  from  his  wife's  work-basket  a  piece 
of  sewing  and  clipped  it  into  minute  fragments,  with 
out  being  aware  of  what  he  had  done.  This  habit  of 
unconscious  destruction  dated  from  his  youth.  The 
writer  of  these  notes  has  in  his  possession  a  rocking- 
chair  used  by  Hawthorne,  from  which  he  whittled  away 
the  arms  while  occupied  in  study  or  in  musings,  at  col 
lege.  He  is  likewise  said  to  have  consumed  an  entire 
table  in  that  manner  during  the  same  period. 

Finished  in  February,  "  The  Scarlet  Letter "  was 
issued  the  next  month.  Although  the  publisher,  Mr. 
Fields,  formed  a  high  estimate  of  its  merit  as  a  work  of 
art,  his  confidence  in  its  immediate  commercial  value 
appears  not  to  have  been  great,  if  we  may  judge  from 
the  following  circumstance.  The  first  edition  printed 
numbered  five  thousand  copies  —  in  itself  a  sufficiently 
large  instalment  —  but  the  type  from  which  these  im 
pressions  had  been  taken  was  immediately  distributed  ; 
showing  that  no  very  extensive  demand  was  looked 
for.  But  this  edition  was  exhausted  in  ten  days,  and 
the  entire  work  had  then  to  be  re-set  and  stereotyped, 
to  meet  the  continued  call  for  copies. 

An  illustration  of  Hawthorne's  literary  methods,  and 
the  extreme  deliberation  with  which  he  matured  his 
romances  from  the  first  slight  germ  of  fancy  or  fact,  is 
offered  in  the  story  of  "  Endicott  and  The  Red  Cross," 


viii  INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 

written  and  published  before  1845.  Mention  is  there 
made  of  "a  young  woman  with  no  mean  share  ot 
beauty,  whose  doom  it  was  to  wear  the  letter  A  on  the 
breast  of  her  gown,  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  world  and 
her  own  children.  And  even  her  own  children  knew 
what  that  initial  signified.  Sporting  with  her  infamy, 
the  lost  and  desperate  creature  had  embroidered  the 
fatal  token  in  scarlet  cloth,  with  golden  thread  and  the 
nicest  art  of  needle-work  ;  so  that  the  capital  A  might 
have  been  thought  to  mean  Admirable,  or  anything 
rather  than  Adulteress."  When  this  story  appeared, 
Miss  E.  P.  Peabody  remarked  to  a  friend  :  "  We  shall 
hear  of  that  letter  by  and  by,  for  it  evidently  has  made 
a  profound  impression  on  Hawthorne's  mind."  Years 
after  the  sentences  quoted  above  had  been  printed  in 
the  second  series  of  "Twice-Told  Tales,"  the  peculiar 
punishment  referred  to  was  elaborated  and  refined  into 
the  theme  of  "  The  Scarlet  Letter." 

The  prescribing  of  such  a  punishment  by  the  PurL 
tan  code  is  well  authenticated.  Hawthorne,  it  is  un 
derstood,  had  seen  it  mentioned  in  some  of  the  records 
of  Boston,  and  it  will  be  found  among  the  laws  of  Ply 
mouth  Colony  for  1658.  A  few  years  since,  that  close 
student  of  New  England  annals,  the  Rev.  Dr.  George 
E.  Ellis,  of  Boston,  stated  incidentally  in  a  lecture  that 
there  was  not  the  slightest  authenticity  as  to  the  per 
son  and  character  of  the  minister  who  plays  the  chief 
male  part  in  the  "  Scarlet  Letter  "  drama.  Dr.  Ellis 
held  that,  since  Dimmesdale  is  represented  as  preach- 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE.  IX 

ing  the  Election  Sermon  in  the  year  of  Governor  Win- 
throp's  death,  he  must  be  identified  with  the  Rev. 
Thomas  Cobbett,  of  Lynn,  who  actually  delivered  the 
Election  Sermon  in  the  year  named  ;  and  he  wished 
to  defend  the  character  of  that  clergyman  against  the 
suspicions  of  those  who,  like  himself,  conceived  Dim- 
mesdale  to  be  simply  a  mask  for  the  real  Election 
preacher  of  that  time.  At  the  date  under  notice  there 
was  but  one  church  in  Boston,  and  its  pastors  were 
John  Wilson  and  John  Cotton.  Wilson  is  mentioned 
under  his  own  name  in  the  romance  ;  so  that  there  can 
be  no  confusion  of  his  identity  with  Dimmesdale's. 
Neither  is  there  any  reason  for  supposing  that  Haw 
thorne  had  the  slightest  intention  of  fixing  the  guilt  of 
his  imaginary  minister  on  either  John  Cotton,  or  Thomas 
Cobbett  of  Lynn.  The  very  fact  that  the  name  of 
Arthur  Dimmesdale  is  a  fictitious  one,  while  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Wilson  and  Governor  Bellingham  are  introduced 
under  their  true  titles,  ought  to  be  proof  enough  that 
Dimmesdale's  story  cannot  be  applied  to  the  actual 
Election  preacher  of  1649.  The  historic  particulariza- 
tion  must  be  understood  as  used  simply  to  heighten  the 
verisimilitude  of  the  tale,  while  its  general  poetic  truth 
and  the  possibility  of  the  situation  occurring  in  early 
New  England  remain  unquestionable. 

I  believe  it  has  not  before  been  recorded  that,  when 
"  The  Scarlet  Letter  "  had  been  written  nearly  through, 
the  author  read  the  story  aloud,  as  far  as  it  was  then 
completed,  to  Mrs.  Hawthorne  ;  and,  on  her  asking 


*  INTRODUCTORY   NOTE. 

him  what  the  end  was  to  be,  he  replied  :  "  I  don't 
know."  To  his  wife's  sister,  Miss  Peabody,  he  once 
said  :  "  The  difficulty  is  not  how  to  say  things,  but  what 
to  say  ;  "  implying  that,  whenever  he  began  to  write, 
his  subject  was  already  so  well  developed  as  to  make 
the  question  mainly  one  of  selection.  But  it  is  easy  to 
understand  how,  when  he  came  to  the  final  solution  of 
a  difficult  problem,  he  might  then,  being  carried  away 
by  the  conflicting  interests  of  the  different  characters, 
hesitate  as  to  the  conclusion. 

When  this  romance  was  published  it  brought  to 
Hawthorne  letters  from  strangers,  people  who  had 
sinned  or  were  tempted  and  suffering,  and  who  sought 
his  counsel  as  they  would  that  of  a  comprehensive 
friend  or  a  confessor. 

The  introductory  chapter  on  the  Custom  House, 
upon  which  Hawthorne  relied  to  alleviate  the  sombre- 
ness  of  the  story,  successfully  accomplished  that  re 
sult  ;  but,  at  the  time  of  its  publication,  its  good-na 
tured  and  harmless  humor  roused  great  ire  in  some  of 
the  Salem  people,  who  recognized  the  sketches  it  con 
tained  of  now  forgotten  officials.  One  individual,  of 
considerable  intelligence  otherwise,  was  known  to  have 
firmly  abstained  from  reading  anything  the  author 
afterwards  wrote  ;  a  curious  revenge,  which  would 
seem  to  be  designed  expressly  to  injure  the  censor 
bimself,  without  hurting  or  even  be*_:g  known  to  Haw 
thorne.  G.  P.  L. 


PEEPACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


ilUCH  to  the  author's  surprise,  and  (if  he  may 
say  so  without  additional  offence)  considerably 
to  his  amusement,  he  finds  that  his  sketch  of 
official  life,  introductory  to  THE  SCARLET  LETTER,  has 
created  an  unprecedented  excitement  in  the  respectable 
community  immediately  around  him.  It  could  hardly 
have  been  more  violent,  indeed,  had  he  burned  down  the 
Custom-House,  and  quenched  its  last  smoking  ember  in 
the  blood  of  a  certain  venerable  personage,  against  whom 
he  is  supposed  to  cherisli  a  peculiar  malevolence.  As  the 
public  disapprobation  would  weigh  very  heavily  on  him, 
were  he  conscious  of  deserving  it,  the  author  begs  leave 
to  say,  that  he  has  carefully  read  over  the  introductory 
pages,  with  a  purpose  to  alter  or  expunge  whatever  might 
be  found  amiss,  and  to  make  the  best  reparation  in  his 
power  for  the  atrocities  of  which  he  has  been  adjudged 
guilty.  But  it  appears  to  him,  that  the  only  remarkable 
features  of  the  sketch  are  its  frank  and  genuine  good- 
humor,  and  the  general  accuracy  with  which  he  has  con 
veyed  his  sincere  impressions  of  the  characters  therein 


xii  PREFACE. 

described.  As  to  enmity,  or  ill-feeling  of  any  kind,  per 
sonal  or  political,  he  utterly  disclaims  such  motives.  The 
sketch  might,  perhaps,  have  been  wholly  omitted,  without 
loss  to  the  public,  or  detriment  to  the  book ;  but,  having 
undertaken  to  write  it,  he  conceives  that  it  could  not 
have  been  done  in  a  better  or  a  kindlier  spirit,  nor,  so 
far  as  his  abilities  availed,  with  a  livelier  effect  of  truth. 

The  author  is  constrained,  therefore,  to  republish  his 
introductory  sketch  without  the  change  of  a  word. 

SALEM,  March  30,  1850. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
THE  CUSTOM-HOUSE.  —  INTRODUCTORY      ...        9 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

I.  THE  PRISON-DOOR       .        .        .        .  .      57 

II.  THE  MARKET-PLACE        .        .  .           59 

III.  THE  RECOGNITION       .        .        .        .  .       71 

IV.  THE  INTERVIEW      .        .  '  - .  ..  .      .  '  '  ;    :       82 

V.  HESTER  AT  HER  NEEDLE     ....      90 

VI.  PEARL      .        .        .        .   ^    .        .  .         102 

VII.  THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL       .        .        .  .     114 

VIII.  THE  ELF-CHILD  AND  THE  MINISTER  .         123 

IX.  THE  LEECH          .        .        .        ,        •  •     131 

X.  THE  LEECH  AND  HIS  PATIENT        .  .         146 

XI.  THE  INTERIOR  OP  A  HEART        .        .  .158 

XII.  THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL    ....  167 

XIII.  ANOTHER  VIEW  OF  HESTER          .        .  .     180 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

XIV.  HESTER  AND  THE  PHYSICIAN  .         .  .         190 

XV.  HESTER  AND  PEARL     .        .        .'  .        .     198 

XVI.  A  FOREST  WALK      .  '      .        .        .  .         206 

XVII.  THE  PASTOR  AND  HIS  PARISHIONER  .        .     214 

XVIII.  A  FLOOD  OF  SUNSHINE   .        .         .  .         226 

XIX.  THE  CHILD  AT  THE  BROOK-SIDE  .         .     234 

XX.  THE  MINISTER  IN  A  MAZE      .        .  .         243 

XXI.  THE  NEW  ENGLAND  HOLIDAY    .  .        .    256 

XXII.  THE  PROCESSION      .        .•        .        .  •     .--       267 

XXIII.  THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  SCARLET  LETTER     280 

XXIV.  CONCLUSION  291 


THE  CUSTOM-HDUSE.' 

INTRODUCTORY  TO  "THE   SCARLET  LETTER." 

|T  is  a  little  remarkable,  that — though  disinclined 
to  talk  overmuch  of  myself  and  my  aifairs  at  the 
fireside,  and  to  my  personal  friends  —  an  auto 
biographical  impulse  should  twice  in  my  life  have  taken 
possession  of  me,  in  addressing  the  public.  The  first 
time  was  three  or  four  years  since,  when  I  favored  the 
reader  —  inexcusably,  and  for  no  earthly  reason,  that 
either  the  indulgent  reader  or  the  intrusive  author  could 
imagine  —  with  a  description  of  my  way  of  life  in  the 
deep  quietude  of  an  Old  Manse.  And  now  —  because, 
beyond  my  deserts,  I  was  happy  enough  to  find  a  listener 
or  two  on  the  former  occasion  —  I  again  seize  the  public 
by  the  button,  and  talk  of  my  three  years'  experience  ii 
a  Custom-House.  The  example  of  the  famous  "P.  P., 
Clerk  of  this  Parish,"  was  never  more  faithfully  followed. 
The  truth  seems  to  be,  however,  that,  when  he  casts  his 
leaves  forth  upon  the  wind,  the  author  addresses,  not  the 
many  who  will  fling  aside  his  volume,  or  never  take  it  up, 
but  the  few  who  will  understand  him,  better  than  most 
of  his  schoolmates  or  lifemates.  Some  authors,  indeed, 
do  far  more  than  this,  arid  indulge  themselves  in  such 
confidential  depths  of  revelation  as  could  fittingly  be  ad 
dressed,  only  and  exclusively,  to  the  one  heart  and  mind 
1* 


10  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

of  perfect  sympathy;  as  if  the  printed  book,  thrown 
fit  ,lar#e  011  the ,  wide  world,  were  certain  to  find  out  the 
divicjec^ segment  ef/fh^  Writer's  own  nature,  and  complete 
his  civcle  of 'existence -fey  bringing  him  into  communion 
;  tyit-Ji  it.;  Jt  «is ; scarcely  deqor,ous,  however,  to  speak  all, 
.r  wen  wVe-re 'wC'Sp'eak.'inlpvrsoRally.  But,  as  thoughts  are 
frozen  and  utterance  'benumbed,  unless  the  speaker  stand 
in  some  true  relation  with  his  audience,  it  may  be  par 
donable  to  imagine  that  a  friend,  a  kind  and  apprehen 
sive,  though  not  the  closest  friend,  is  listening  to  our 
talk;  and  then,  a  native  reserve  being  thawed  by  this 
genial  consciousness,  we  may  prate  of  the  circumstances 
that  lie  around  us,  and  even  of  ourself,  but  still  keep  the 
inmost  Me  behind  its  veil.  To  this  extent,  and  within 
these  limits,  an  author,  methinks,  may  be  autobiograph 
ical,  .without  violating  either  the  reader's  rights  or  his 
own. 

It  will  be  seen,  likewise,  that  this  Custom-House  sketck 
has  a  certain  propriety,  of  a  kind  always  recognized  in 
literature,  as  explaining  how  a  large  portion  of  the  follow 
ing  pages  came  into  my  possession,  and  as  offering  proofs 
of  the  authenticity  of  a  narrative  therein  contained.  This, 
in  fact,  —  a  desire  to  put  myself  in  my  true  position  as 
editor,  or  very  little  more,  of  the  most  prolix  among  the 
tales  that  make  up  my  volume,  —  this,  and  no  other,  is 
my  true  reason  for  assuming  a  personal  relation  with  the 
public.  In  accomplishing  the  main  purpose,  it  has  ap 
peared  allowable,  by  a  few  extra  touches,  to  give  a  faint 
representation  of  a  mode  of  life  not  heretofore  described, 
together  with  some  of  the  characters  that  move  in  it, 
among  whom  the  author  happened  to  make  one. 

In  my  native  town  of  Salem,  at  the  head  of  what,  half 
a  century  ago,  in  the  days  of  old  King  Derby,  was  a 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  11 

bustling  wharf,  —  but  which  is  now  burdened  with  de 
cayed  wooden  warehouses,  and  exhibits  few  or  no  symp 
toms  of  commercial  life ;  except,  perhaps,  a  bark  or  brig, 
half-way  down  its  melancholy  length,  discharging  hides ; 
or,  nearer  at  hand,  a  Nova  Scotia  schooner,  pitching 
out  her  cargo  of  firewood,  —  at  the  head,  I  say,  of  this 
dilapidated  wharf,  which  the  tide  often  overflows,  and 
along  which,  at  the  base  and  in  the  rear  of  the  row  of 
buildings,  the  track  of  many  languid  years  is  seen  in  a 
border  of  unthrifty  grass,  —  here,  with  a  view  from  its 
front  windows  adown  this  not  very  enlivening  prospect, 
and  thence  across  the  harbor,  stands  a  spacious  edifice 
of  brick.  From  the  loftiest  point  of  its  roof,  during  pre 
cisely  three  and  a  half  hours  of  each  forenoon,  floats  or 
droops,  in  breeze  or  calm,  the  banner  of  the  republic ; 
but  with  the  thirteen  stripes  turned  vertically,  instead  of 
horizontally,  and  thus  indicating  that  a  civil,  and  not  a 
military  post  of  Uncle  Sam's  government  is  here  estab 
lished.  Its  front  is  ornamented  with  a  portico  of  half 
a  dozen  wooden  pillars,  supporting  a  balcony,  beneath 
which  a  flight  of  wide  granite  steps  descends  towards  the 
street.  Over  the  entrance  hovers  an  enormous  specimen 
of  the  American  eagle,  with  outspread  wings,  a  shield 
before  her  breast,  and,  if  I  recollect  aright,  a  bunch  of 
intermingled  thunderbolts  and  barbed  arrows  in  each 
claw.  With  the  customary  infirmity  of  temper  that  char 
acterizes  this  unhappy  fowl,  she  appears,  by  the  fierce 
ness  of  her  beak  and  eye,  and  the  general  truculency  of 
her  attitude,  to  threaten  mischief  to  the  inoffensive  com 
munity  ;  and  especially  to  warn  all  citizens,  careful  of 
their  safety,  against  intruding  on  the  premises  which  she 
overshadows  with  her  wings.  Nevertheless,  vixenly  as 
she  looks,  many  people  are  seeking,  at  this  very  moment, 
to  shelter  themselves  under  the  wing  of  the  federal  eagle ; 


12  THE    SCAELET    LETTER. 

imagining,  I  presume,  that  her  bosom  has  all  the  softness 
and  snugness  of  an  eider-down  pillow.  But  she  has  no 
great  tenderness,  even  in  her  best  of  moods,  and,  sooner 
or  later,  —  oftener  soon  than  late,  —  is  apt  to  fling  off 
her  nestlings,  with  a  scratch  of  her  claw,  a  dab  of  her 
beak,  or  a  rankling  wound  from  her  barbed  arrows. 

The  pavement  round  about  the  above-described  edifice 
—  which-  we  may  as  well  name  at  once  as  the  Custom- 
House  of  the  port  —  has  grass  enough  growing  in  its 
chinks  to  show  that  it  has  not,  of  late  days,  been  worn 
by  any  multitudinous  resort  of  business.  In  some  months 
of  the  year,  however,  there  often  chances  a  forenoon 
when  affairs  move  onward  with  a  livelier  tread.  Such 
occasions  might  remind  the  elderly  citizen  of  that  period 
before  the  last  war  with  England,  when  Salem  was  a 
port  by  itself ;  not  scorned,  as  she  is  now,  by  her  own 
merchants  and  ship-owners,  who  permit  her  wharves  to 
crumble  to  ruin,  while  their  ventures  go  to  swell,  need 
lessly  and  imperceptibly,  the  mighty  flood  of  commerce 
at  New  York  or  Boston.  On  some  such  morning,  when 
three  or  four  vessels  happen  to  have  arrived  at  once,  — 
usually  from  Africa  or  South  America,  —  or  to  be  on  the 
verge  of  their  departure  thitherward,  there  is  a  sound  of 
frequent  feet,  passing  briskly  up  and  down  the  granite 
steps.  Here,  before  his  own  wife  has  greeted  him,  you 
may  greet  the  sea-flushed  shipmaster,  just  in  port,  with 
his  vessel's  papers  under  his  arm,  in  a  tarnished  tin  box. 
Here,  too,  comes  his  owner,  cheerful  or  sombre,  gracious 
or  in  the  sulks,  accordingly  as  his  scheme  of  the  nowx 
accomplished  voyage  has  been  realized  in  merchandise 
that  will  readily  be  turned  to  gold,  or  has  buried  him 
under  a  bulk  of  incommodities,  such  as  nobody  will  care 
to  rid  him  of.  Here,  likewise,  —  the  germ  of  the  wrin 
kle-browed,  grizzly-bearded,  care  worn  merchant,  —  we 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  13 

have  the  smart  young  clerk,  who  gets  the  taste  of  traffic 
as  a  wolf-cub  does  of  blood,  and  already  sends  adven 
tures  in  his  master's  ships,  when  he  had  better  be  sailing 
mimic-boats  upon  a  mill-pond.  Another  figure  in  the 
scene  is  the  outward-bound  sailor  in  quest  of  a  protec 
tion  ;  or  the  recently  arrived  one,  pale  and  feeble,  seek 
ing  a  passport  to  the  hospital.  Nor  must  we  forget  the 
captains  of  the  rusty  little  schooners  that  bring  firewood 
from  the  British  provinces ;  a  rough-looking  set  of  tar 
paulins,  without  the  alertness  of  the  Yankee  aspect,  but 
contributing  an  item  of  no  slight  importance  to  our  de 
caying  trade. 

Cluster  all  these  individuals  together,  as  they  some 
times  were,  with  other  miscellaneous  ones  to  diversify 
the  group,  and,  for  the  time  being,  it  made  the  Custom- 
House  a  stirring  scene.  More  frequently,  however,  on 
ascending  the  steps,  you  would  discern  —  in  the  entry, 
if  it  were  summer  time,  or  in  their  appropriate  rooms,  if 
wintry  or  inclement  weather  —  a  row  of  venerable  figures, 
sitting  in  old-fashioned  chairs,  which  were  'tipped  on 
their  hind  legs  back  against  the  Avail.  Oftentimes  they 
were  asleep,  but  occasionally,  might  be  heard  talking  to 
gether,  in  voices  between  speech  and  a  snore,  and  with 
that  lack  of  energy  that  distinguishes  the  occupants  of 
almshouses,  and  all  other  human  beings  who  depend  for 
subsistence  on  charity,  on  monopolized  labor,  or  anything 
else,  but  their  own  independent  exertions.  These  old 
gentlemen  —  seated,  like  Matthew,  at  the  receipt  of 
customs,  but  not  very  liable  to  be  summoned  thence, 
like  him,  for  apostolic  errands  —  were  Custom-House 
officers. 

Furthermore,  on  the  left  hand  as  you  enter  the  front 
door,  is  a  certain  room  or  office,  about  fifteen  feet  square, 
arid  of  a  lofty  height;  with  two  of  its  arched  windows 


14  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

commanding  a  view  of  the  aforesaid  dilapidated  wharf, 
and  the  third  looking  across  a  narrow  lane,  and  along  a 
portion  of  Derby  Street.  All  three  give  glimpses  of  the 
shops  of  grocers,  block-makers,  slop-sellers,  and  ship- 
chandlers  ;  around  the  doors  of  which  are  generally  to 
be  seen,  laughing  and  gossiping,  clusters  of  old  salts, 
and  such  other  wharf-rats  as  haunt  the  Wapping  of  a 
seaport.  The  room  itself  is  cobwebbed,  and  dingy  with 
old  paint ;  its  floor  is  strewn  with  gray  sand,  in  a  fashion 
that  has  elsewhere  fallen  into  long  disuse;  and  it  is 
easy  to  conclude,  from  the  general  slovenliness  of  the 
place,  that  this  is  a  sanctuary  into  which  womankind, 
with  her  tools  of  magic,  the  broom  and  mop,  has  very  in 
frequent  access.  In  the  way  of  furniture,  there  is  a  stove 
with  a  voluminous  funnel;  an  old  pine  desk,  with  a 
three-legged  stool  beside  it ;  two  or  three  wooden-bottom 
chairs,  exceedingly  decrepit  and  infirm;  and  —  not  to 
forget  the  library  —  on  some  shelves,  a  score  or  two  of 
volumes  of  the  Acts  of  Congress,  and  a  bulky  Digest 
of  the  Revenue  Laws.  A  tin  pipe  ascends  through  the 
ceiling,  and  forms  a  medium  of  vocal  communication  with 
other  parts  of  the  edifice.  And  here,  some  six  months 
ago,  —  pacing  from  corner  to  corner,  or  lounging  on  the 
long-legged  stool,  with  his  elbow  on  the  desk,  and  his 
eyes  wandering  up  and  down  the  columns  of  the  morning 
newspaper,  —  you  might  have  recognized,  honored  reader, 
the  same  individual  who  welcomed  you  into  his  cheery 
little  study,  where  the  sunshine  glimmered  so  pleasantly 
through  the  willow  branches,  on  the  western  side  of  the 
Old  Manse.  But  now,  should  you  go  thither  to  seek  him, 
you  would  inquire  in  vain  for  the  Locofoco  Surveyor. 
The  besom  of  reform  has  swept  him  out  of  office ;  and  a 
worthier  successor  wears  his  dignity,  and  pockets  his 
emoluments. 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  1& 

• 

This  old  town  of  Salem  —  mj  native  place,  though  I 
have  dwelt  much  away  from  it,  both  in  boyhood  and 
maturer  years  —  possesses,  or  did  possess,  a  hold  on  my 
affections,  the  force  of  which  I  have  never  realized  dur 
ing  my  seasons  of  actual  residence  here.  Indeed,  so  far 
as  its  physical  aspect  is  concerned,  with  its  flat,  unvaried 
surface,  covered  chiefly  with  wooden  houses,  few  or  none 
of  which  pretend  to  architectural  beauty,  —  its  irregu 
larity,  which  is  neither  picturesque  nor  quaint,  but  only 
tame,  —  its  long  and  lazy  street,  lounging  wearisomely 
through  the  whole  extent  of  the  peninsula,  with  Gallows 
Hill  and  New  Guinea  at  one  end,  and  a  view  of  the 
almshouse  at  the  other,  —  such  being  the  features  of 
my  native  town,  it  would  be  quite  as  reasonable  to  form 
a  sentimental  attachment  to  a  disarranged  checker-board. 
A.nd  yet,  though  invariably  happiest  elsewhere,  there  is 
within  me  a  feeling  for  old  Salem,  which,  in  lack  of  a 
better  phrase,  I  must  be  content  to  call  affection.  The 
sentiment  is  probably  assignable  to  the  deep  and  aged 
roots  which  my  family  has  struck  into  the  soil.  It  is 
now  nearly  two  centuries  and  a  quarter  since  the  origi 
nal  Briton,  the  earliest  emigrant  of  my  name,  made  his 
appearance  in  the  wild  and  forest-bordered  settlement, 
which  has  since  become  a  city.  And  here  his  descend 
ants  have  been  born  and  died,  and  have  mingled  their 
earthy  substance  with  the  soil;  until  no  small  portion 
of  it  must  necessarily  be  akin  to  the  mortal  frame  where 
with,  for  a  little  while,  I  walk  the  streets.  In  part,  there- 
tore,  the  attachment  which  I  speak  of  is  the  mere  sensu 
ous  sympathy  of  dust  for  dust.  Few  of  my  countrymen 
can  know  what  it  is ;  nor,  as  frequent  transplantation  is 
perhaps  better  for  the  stock,  need  they  consider  it  desir 
able  to  know. 

But  the  sentiment  has  likewise  its  moral  quality.     The 


16  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

figure  of  that  first  ancestor,  invested  by  family  tradition 
with  a  dim  and  dusky  grandeur,  was  present  to  my  boy 
ish  imagination,  as  far  back  as  I  can  remember.     It  still 
haunts  me,  and  induces  a  sort  of  home-feeling  with  the 
past,  which  I  scarcely  claim  in  reference  to  the  present 
phase  of  the  town.     I  seem  to  have  a  stronger  claim  to 
a  residence  here  on  account  of  this  grave,  bearded,  sable- 
cloaked  and  steeple-crowned  progenitor,  —  who  came  so 
early,  with  his  Bible  and  his  sword,  and  trode  the  un-  . 
worn  street  with  such  a  stately  port,  and  made  so  large  . 
a  figure,  as  a  man  of  war  and  peace,  —  a  stronger  claim  \ 
than  for  myself,  whose  name  is  seldom  heard   and  my 
face  hardly  known.     He  was  a  soldier,  legislator,  judge  ;  , 
he  was  a  ruler  in  the  Church ;  he  had  all  the  Puritanic 
traits,  both   good  and  evil.     He  was  likewise  a   bitter 
persecutor,  as  witness  the  Quakers,  who  have   remem 
bered  him  in  their  histories,  and  relate  an  incident  of 
his  hard  severity  towards  a  woman  of  their  sect,  which 
will  last  longer,  it  is  to  be  feared,  than  any  record  of  his    i 
better  deeds,  although  these  were  many.     His  son,  too,    , 
inherited  the   persecuting  spirit,  and   made  himself  so    J 
conspicuous  in  the  martyrdom  of  the  witches,  that  their   '. 
blood  may  fairly  be  said  to  have  left  a  stain  upon  him.    j 
So  deep  a  stain,  indeed,  that  his  old  dry  bones,  in  the    / 
Charter  Street  burial-ground,  must  still  retain  it,  if  they   j 
have  not  crumbled  utterly  to  dust !    I  know  not  whether  f 
these  ancestors  of  mine  bethought  themselves  to  repent,  f 
and  ask  pardon  of  heaven  for  their  cruelties  ;  or  whether   ); 
they   are  now  groaning  under  the  heavy   consequences  \ 
of  them,  in  another  state  of  being.     At  all  events,  I,  the 
present  writer,  as  their  representative,  hereby  take  shame  |X 
upon  myself  for  their   sakes,  and   pray  that  any  curse    I 
incurred  by  them  —  as  I  have  heard,  and  as  the  dreary 
and  unprosperous  condition  of  the  race,  for  many  a  long 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  17 

year  back,  would  argue   to   exist  —  may  be   now  and 
henceforth  removed. 

Doubtless,  however,  either  of  these  stern  and  black- 
browed  Puritans  would  have  thought  it  quite  a  sufficient 
retribution  for  his  sins,  that,  after  so  long  a  lapse  of 
years,  the  old  trunk  of  the  family  tree,  with  so  much 
venerable  moss  upon  it,  should  have  borne,  as  its  top 
most  bough,  an  idler  like  myself.  No  aim,  that  I  have 
ever  cherished,  would  they  recognize  as  laudable ;  no 
success  of  mine  —  if  my  life,  beyond  its  domestic  scope, 
had  ever  been  brightened  by  success  —  would  they  deem 
otherwise  than  worthless,  if  not  positively  disgraceful. 
"  What  is  he  ? "  murmurs  one  gray  shadow  of  my  fore 
fathers  to  the  other.  "  A  writer  of  story-books  !  What 
kind  of  a  business  in  life,  —  what  mode  of  glorifying  God, 
or  being  serviceable  to  mankind  in  his  day  and  genera 
tion,  —  may  that  be  ?  Why,  the  degenerate  fellow  mipiht 
as  well  have  been  a  fiddler !  "  Such  are  the  compliments 
bandied  between  my  great-grandsires  and  myself,  across 
the  gulf  of  time !  And  yet,  let  them  scorn  me  as  they 
will,  strong  traits  of  their  nature  have  intertwined  them 
selves  with  mine. 

Planted  deep,  in  the  town's  earliest  infancy  and  child 
hood,  by  these  two  earnest  and  energetic  men,  the  race 
has  ever  since  subsisted  here ;  always,  too,  in  respecta 
bility;  never,  so  far  as  I  have  known,  disgraced  by  a 
single  unworthy  member;  but  seldom  or  never,  on  the 
other  hand,  after  the  first  two  generations,  performing 
*  any  memorable  deed,  or  so  much  as  putting  forward  a 
claim  to  public  notice.  Gradually,  they  have  sunk  almosi 
out  of  sight;  as  old  houses,  here  and  there  about  the 
streets,  get  covered  half-way  to  the  eaves  by  the  accumu 
lation  of  new  soil.  From  father  to  son,  for  above  a  hun 
dred  years,  they  followed  the  sea ;  a  gray -headed  ship- 

B 


18  THE    SCARLET    LETTER.  , 

; 

master,  in  each  generation,  retiring  from  the  quarter-deck  ( 
to  the  homestead,  while  a  boy  of  fourteen  took  the  heredi-  I 
tary  place  before  the  mast,  confronting  the  salt  spray  and  ) 
the  gale,  which  had  blustered  against  his  sire  and  grand- 1 
sire.     The  boy,  also,  in  due  time,  passed  from  the  fore-j 
castle  to  the  cabin,  spent  a  tempestuous  manhood,  anc/ 
returned  from  his  world- wanderings,  to  grow  old,  and  die, 
and  mingle  his  dust  with   the  natal   earth.     This  long  • 
connection  of  a  family  with  one  spot,  as  its  place  of  birtly 
and  burial,  creates  a  kindred  between  the  human  being  ; 
and  the  locality,  quite  independent  of  any  charm  in  thf  3 
scenery  or  moral  circumstances  that  surround  him.     It 
is  not  love,  but   instinct.     The  new  inhabitant  —  whc . 
came  himself  from  a  foreign  land,  or  whose   father  01* 
grandfather  came  —  has  little  claim  to  be  called  a  Salem- 
ite ;  he  has  no  conception  of  the  oyster-like  tenacity  with- 
which   an   old  settler,  over  whom  his  third  century  is 
creeping,  clings  to  the  spot  where  his  successive  genera 
tions  have  been  imbedded.    It  is  no  matter  that  the  place 
is  joyless  for  him ;  that  he  is  weary  of  the  old  wooden 
houses,  the  mud  and  dust,  the  dead  level  of  site  and  sen 
timent,  the  chill  east  wind,  and  the  dullest  of  social  at 
mospheres; —  all  these,  and  whatever  faults  besides  he 
may  see  or  imagine,  are  nothing  to  the  purpose.     The 
spell  survives,  and  just  as  powerfully  as  if  the  natal  spot 
were  an  earthly  paradise.     So  has  it  been  in  my  case.     I 
felt  it  almost  as  a  destiny  to  make  Salem  my  home ;  so 
that  the  mould  of  features  and  cast  of  character  which 
had  all  along  been  familiar  here,  —  ever,  as  one  repre 
sentative  of  the  race  lay  down  in  his  grave,  another  as 
suming,  as  it  were,  his  sentry-march   along   the  main 
street,  —  might  still  in  my  little  day  be  seen  and  recog 
nized  in  the  old  town.    Nevertheless,  this  very  sentiment 
is  an  evidence  that  the  connection,  which  has  become  an 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  19 

unhealthy  one,  should  at  last  be  severed.  Human  nature 
will  not  nourish,  any  more  than  a  potato,  if  it  be  planted 
and  replanted,  for  too  long  a  series  of  generations,  in  the 
same  worn-out  soil.  My  children  have  had  other  birth 
places,  and,  so  far  as  their  fortunes  may  be  within  my 
control,  shall  strike  their  roots  into  unaccustomed  earth. 

On  emerging  from  the  Old  Manse,  it  was  chiefly  this 
strange,  indolent,  unjoyous  attachment  for  my  native 
town,  that  brought  me  to  fill  a  place  in  Uncle  Sam's  brick 
edifice,  when  I  might  as  well,  or  better,  have  gone  some 
where  else.  My  doom  was  on  me.  It  was  not  the  first 
time,  nor  the  second,  that  I  had  gone  away,  —  as  it 
seemed,  permanently,  —  but  yet  returned,  like  the  bad 
half-penny;  or  as  if  Salem  were  for  me  the  inevitable 
centre  of  the  universe.  So,  one  fine  morning,  I  ascended 
the  flight  of  granite  steps,  with  the  President's  commis 
sion  in  my  pocket,  and  was  introduced  to  the  corps  of 
gentlemen  who  were  to  aid  me  in  my  weighty  responsi 
bility,  as  chief  executive  officer  of  the  Custom-House. 

I  doubt  greatly  —  or,  rather,  I  do  not  doubt  at  all  — 
whether  any  public  functionary  of  the  United  States, 
either  in  the  civil  or  military  line,  has  ever  had  such  a 
patriarchal  body  of  veterans  under  his  orders  as  myself. 
The  whereabouts  of  the  Oldest  Inhabitant  was  at  once 
settled,  when  I  looked  at  them.  For  upwards  of  twenty 
years  before  this  epoch,  the  independent  position  of  the 
Collector  had  kept  the  Salem  Custom-House  out  of  the 
whirlpool  of  political  vicissitude,  which  makes  the  tenure 
of  office  generally  so  fragile.  A  soldier,  —  New  Eng 
land's  most  distinguished  soldier,  — he  stood  firmly  on 
the  pedestal  of  his  gallant  services ;  and,  himself  secure 
rin  the  wise  liberality  of  the  successive  administrations 
through  which  he  had  held  office,  he  had  been  the  safety 
of  his  subordinates  in  many  an  hour  of  danger  and  heart- 


20  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

quake.  General  Miller  was  radically  conservative;  a 
man  over  whose  kindly  nature  habit  had  no  slight  mfLu-, 
ence ;  attaching  himself  strongly  to  familiar  faces,  and 
with  difficulty  moved  to  change,  even  when  change 
might  have  brought  unquestionable  improvement.  Thus, 
on  taking  charge  of  my  department,  I  found  few  but  aged 
men.  They  were  ancient  sea-captains,  for  the  most  part 
who,  after  being  tost  on  every  sea,  and  standing  up  stur 
dily  against  life's  tempestuous  blast,  had  finally  drifted 
into  this  quiet  nook ;  where,  with  little  to  disturb  them, 
except  the  periodical  terrors  of  a  Presidential  election, 
they  one  and  all  acquired  a  new  lease  of  existence. 
Though  by  no  means  less  liable  than  their  fellow-men  to 
age  and  infirmity,  they  had  evidently  some  talisman  or 
other  that  kept  death  at  bay.  Two  or  three  of  their 
number,  as  I  was  assured,  being  gouty  and  rheumatic,  or 
perhaps  bedridden,  never  dreamed  of  making  their  ap 
pearance  at  the  Custom-House,  during  a  large  part  of 
the  year;  but,  after  a  torpid  winter,  would  creep  out 
into  the  warm  sunshine  of  May  or  June,  go  lazily  about 
what  they  termed  duty,  and,  at  their  own  leisure  and  con 
venience,  betake  themselves  to  bed  again.  I  must  plead 
guilty  to  the  charge  of  abbreviating  the  official  breath  of 
more  than  one  of  these  venerable  servants  of  the  republic. 
They  were  allowed,  on  my  representation,  to  rest  from 
their  arduous  labors,  and  soon  afterwards  —  as  if  their 
sole  principle  of  life  had  been  zeal  for  their  country's  ser 
vice,  as  I  verily  believe  it  was  —  withdrew  to  a  better 
world.  It  is  a  pious  consolation  to  me,  that,  through  my 
interference,  a  sufficient  space  was  allowed  them  for  re 
pentance  of  the  evil  and  corrupt  practices  into  which,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  every  Custom-House  officer  must  be 
supposed  to  fall.  Neither  the  front  nor  the  back  entrance 
of  the  Custom-House  opens  on  the  road  to  Paradise. 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  21 

1  /  The  greater  part  of  my  officers  were  Whigs.  It  was 
well  for  their  venerable  brotherhood  that  the  new  Sur- 
yeyor  was  not  a  politician,  and  though  a  faithful  Demo 
crat  in  principle,  neither  received  nor  held  his  office  with 
any  reference  to  political  services.  Had  it  been  other- 
•yise,  —  had  an  active  politician  been  put  into  this  influ 
ential  post,  to  assume  the  easy  task  of  making  head 
Ctgainst  a  Whig  Collector,  whose  infirmities  withheld  him 
%om  the  personal  administration  of  his  office,  —  hardly  a 

CJman  of  the  old  corps  would  have  drawn  the  breath  of 
official  life,  within  a  month  after  the  exterminating  angel 
had  come  up  the  Custom-House  steps.  According  to  the 
received  code  in  such  matters,  it  would  have  been  nothing 
short  of  duty,  in  a  politician,  to  bring  every  one  of  those 
white  heads  under  the  axe  of  the  guillotine.  It  was  plain 
enough  to  discern,  that  the  old  fellows  dreaded  some  such 
discourtesy  at  my  hands.  It  pained,  and  at  the  same 
time  amused  me,  to  behold  the  terrors  that  attended  my 
advent ;  to  see  a  furrowed  cheek,  weather-beaten  by  half 
a  century  of  storm,  turn  ashy  pale  at  the  glance  of  so 
harmless  an  individual  as  myself;  to  detect,  as  one  or 
another  addressed  me,  the  tremor  of  a  voice,  which,  in 
long-past  days,  had  been  wont  to  bellow  through  a  speak 
ing-trumpet,  hoarsely  enough  to  frighten  Boreas  himself 
to  silence.  They  knew,  these  excellent  old  persons,  that, 
by  all  established  rule,  —  and,  as  regarded  some  of  them, 
weighed  by  their  own  lack  of  efficiency  for  business,  — 
they  ought  to  have  given  place  to  younger  men,  more 
orthodox  in  politics,  and  altogether  fitter  than  themselves 

i  to  serve  our  common  Uncle.     I  knew  it  too,  but  could 

never  quite  find  in  my  heart  to  act  upon  the  knowledge. 

,  Much  and  deservedly  to  my  own  discredit,  therefore,  and 

considerably  to  the  detriment  of  my  official  conscience, 

they  continued,  during  my  incumbency,  to  creep  about 


22  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

the  wharves,  and  loiter  up  and  down  the  Custom-Hous^ 
steps.  They  spent  a  good  deal  of  time,  also,  asleep  in 
their  accustomed  corners,  with  their  chairs  tilted  back 
against  the  wall ;  awaking,  however,  once  or  twice  in  a 
forenoon,  to  bore  one  another  with  the  several  thousandth 
repetition  of  old  sea-stories,  and  mouldy  jokes,  that  ha< 
grown  to  be  passwords  and  countersigns  among  them. 

The  discovery  was  soon  made,  I  imagine,  that  the  net 
Surveyor  had  no  great  harm  in  him.  So,  with  light  soml 
hearts,  and  the  happy  consciousness  of  being  usefully 
employed,  —  in  their  own  behalf,  at  least,  if  not  for 
our  beloved  country,  —  these  good  old  gentlemen  went 
through  the  various  formalities  of  office.  Sagaciously, 
under  their  spectacles,  did  they  peep  into  the  holds  of 
vessels  !  Mighty  was  their  fuss  about  little  matters, 
and  marvellous,  sometimes,  the  obtuseness  that  allowed 
greater  ones  to  slip  between  their  fingers !  Whenever 
such  a  mischance  occurred,  — when  a  wagon-load  of  val 
uable  merchandise  had  been  smuggled  ashore,  at  noonday, 
perhaps,  and  directly  beneath  their  unsuspicious  noses,  — 
nothing  could  exceed  the  vigilance  and  alacrity  with  which 
they  proceeded  to  lock,  and  double-lock,  and  secure  with 
tape  and  sealing-wax,  all  the  avenues  of  the  delinquent 
vessel.  Instead  of  a  reprimand  for  their  previous  neg 
ligence,  the  case  seemed  rather  to  require  an  eulogium 
on  their  praiseworthy  caution,  after  the  mischief  had  hap 
pened  ;  a  grateful  recognition  of  the  promptitude  of  their 
zeal,  the  moment  that  there  was  no  longer  any  remedy.  : 

Unless  people  are  more  than  commonly  disagreable, 
it  is  my  foolish  habit  to  contract  a  kindness  for  them.  < 
The  better  part  of  my  companion's  character,  if  it  have  i 
a  better  part,  is  that  which  usually  comes  uppermost  in  f 
my  regard,  and  forms  the  type  whereby  I  recognize  the 
man.     As  most  of  these  old  Custom-House  officers  had 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  23 

ood  traits,  and  as  my  position  in  reference  to  them, 
eing  paternal  and  protective,  was  favorable  to  the 
growth  of  friendly  sentiments,  I  soon  grew  to  like  them 
all.  It  was  pleasant,  in  the  summer  forenoons,  —  when 
the  fervent  heat,  that  almost  liquefied  the  rest  of  the  hu 
man  family,  merely  communicated  a  genial  warmth  to 
their  half-torpid  systems,  — it  was  pleasant  to  hear  them 
chatting  in  the  back  entry,  a  row  of  them  all  tipped 
against  the  wall,  as  usual;  while  the  frozen  witticisms 
of  past  generations  were  thawed  out,  and  came  bubbling 
with  laughter  from  their  lips.  Externally,  the  jollity  of 
aged  men  has  much  in  common  with  the  mirth  of  chil 
dren  ;  the  intellect,  any  more  than  a  deep  sense  of  humor, 
has  little  to  do  with  the  matter ;  it  is,  with  both,  a  gleam 
that  plays  upon  the  surface,  and  imparts  a  sunny  and 
cheery  aspect  alike  to  the  green  branch,  and  gray,  mould 
ering  trunk.  In  one  case,  however,  it  is  real  sunshine ;. 
in  the  other,  it  more  resembles  the  phosphorescent  glow 
of  decaying  wood. 

It  would  be  sad  injustice,  the  reader  must  understand, 
to  represent  all  my  excellent  old  friends  as  in  their  do 
tage.  In  the  first  place,,  my  coadjutors  were  not  invari 
ably  old ;  there  were  men  among  them  in  their  strength 
and  prime,  of  marked  ability  and  energy,  and  altogether 
superior  to  the  sluggish  and  dependent  mode  of  life  on 
which  their  evil  stars  had  cast  them.  Then,  moreover, 
the  white  locks  of  age  were  sometimes  found  to  be  the 
thatch  of  an  intellectual  tenement  in  good  repair.  But, 
as  respects  the  majority  of  my  corps  of  veterans,  there 
will  be  no  wrong  done,  if  I  characterize  them  generally 
as  a  set  of  wearisome  old  souls,  who  had  gathered  nothing 
worth  preservation  from  their  varied  experience  of  life. 
They  seemed  to  have  flung  away  all  the  golden  grain  of 
practical  wisdom,  which  they  had  enjoyed  so  many  oppor- 


24  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

tunities  of  harvesting,  and  most  carefully  to  have  storec 
their  memories  with  the   husks.     They  spoke  with  fa 
more  interest  and  unction  of  their  morning's  breakfast, 
or  yesterday's,  to-day's,  or  to-morrow's  dinner,  than  ok 
the  shipwreck  of  forty  or  fifty  years    ago,  and  all  the 
world's  wonders  which  they  had  witnessed  with  theilr 
youthful  eyes. 

The  father  of  the  Custom-House  —  the  patriarch,  not 
only  of  this  little  squad  of  officials,  but,  I  am  bold  to 
say,  of  the  respectable  body  of  tide-waiters  all  over  tlie 
United  States  —  was  a  certain  permanent  Inspector.  He 
might  truly  be  termed  a  legitimate  son  of  the  revenue 
system,  dyed  in  the  wool,  or,  rather,  born  in  the  purple ; 
since  his  sire,  a  Revolutionary  colonel,  and  formerly  col 
lector  of  the  port,  had  created  an  office  for  him,  and  ap 
pointed  him  to  fill  it,  at  a  period  of  the  early  ages  which 
few  living  men  can  now  remember.  This  Inspector,  when 
I  first  knew  him,  was  a  man  of  fourscore  years,  or  there 
abouts,  and  certainly  one  of  the  most  wonderful  speci 
mens  of  winter-green  that  you  would  be*  likely  to  dis 
cover  in  a  lifetime's  search.  With  his  florid  cheek,  his 
compact  figure,  smartly  arrayed  in  a  bright -buttoned  blue 
coat,  his  brisk  and  vigorous  step,  and  his  hale  and  hearty 
aspect,  altogether  he  seemed  —  not  young,  indeed  —  but 
a  kind  of  new  contrivance  of  Mother  Nature  in  the  shap<3 
of  man,  whom  age  and  infirmity  had  no  business  to  touch. 
His  voice  and  laugh,  which  perpetually  re-echoed  through 
the  Custom -House,  had  nothing  of  the  tremulous  quaver 
and  cackle  of  an  old  man's  utterance ;  they  came  strut 
ting  out  of  his  lungs,  like  the  crow  of  a  cock,  or  the 
blast  of  a  clarion.  Looking  at  him  merely  as  an  animal, 
—  and  there  was  very  little  else  to  look  at,  —  ho  was  a 
most  satisfactory  object,  from  the  thorough  heaithfumes  s 
and  wholesomeness  of  his  system,  and  his  capacity,  at 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  25 

that  extreme  age,  to  enjoy  all,  or  nearly  all,  the  delights 
which  he  had  ever  aimed  at,  or  conceived  of.  The  care 
less  security  of  his  life  in  the  Custom-House,  on  a  reg 
ular  income,  and  with  but  slight  and  infrequent  appre 
hensions  of  removal,  had  no  doubt  contributed  to  make 
time  pass  lightly  over  him.  The  original  and  more  po 
tent  causes,  however,  lay  in  the  rare  perfection  of  his 
animal  nature,  the  moderate  proportion  of  intellect,  and 
the  very  trifling  admixture  of  moral  and  spiritual  ingre 
dients  ;  these  latter  qualities,  indeed,  being  in  barely 
enough  measure  to  keep  the  old  gentleman  from  walking 
on  all-fours.  He  possessed  no  power  of  thought,  no 
depth  of  feeling,  no  troublesome  sensibilities ;  nothing,  in 
short,  but  a  few  commonplace  instincts,  which,  aided  by 
the  cheerful  temper  that  grew  inevitably  out  of  his  phys 
ical  well-being,  did  duty  very  respectably,  and  to  gen 
eral  acceptance,  in  lieu  of  a  heart.  He  had  been  the 
husband  of  three  wives,  all  long  since  dead ;  the  father 
of  twenty  children,  most  of  whom,  at  every  age  of  child 
hood  or  maturity,  had  likewise  returned  to  dust.  Here, 
one  would  suppose,  might  have  been  sorrow  enough  to 
imbue  the  sunniest  disposition,  through  and  through, 
with  a  sable  tinge.  Not  so  with  our  old  Inspector! 
One  brief  sigh  sufficed  to  carry  off  the  entire  burden  of 
these  dismal  reminiscences.  The  next  moment,  he  was 
as  ready  for  sport  as  any  unbreeched  infant ;  far  readier 
than  the  Collector's  junior  clerk,  who,  at  nineteen  years, 
was  much  the  elder  and  graver  man  of  the  two. 

I  used  to  watch  and  study  this  patriarchal  personage 
with,  I  think,  livelier  curiosity,  than  any  other  form  of 
humanity  there  presented  to  my  notice.  He  was,  in 
truth,  a  rare  phenomenon;  so  perfect,  in  one  point  of 
view;  so  shallow,  so  delusive,  so  impalpable,  such  an 
absolute  nonenity,  in  every  other.  My  conclusion  was 
2 


26  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

that  he  had  no  soul,  no  heart,  no  mind ;  nothing,  as  I 
have  already  said,  but  instincts  :  and  yet,  withal,  so  cun 
ningly  had  the  few  materials  of  his  character  been  put 
together,  that  there  was  no  painful  perception  of  defi 
ciency,  but,  on  my  part,  an  entire  contentment  with  what 
I  found  in  him.  It  might  be  difficult  —  and  it  was  so  — 
to  conceive  how  he  should  exist  hereafter,  so  earthly  and 
sensuous  did  he  seem ;  but  surely  his  existence  here,  ad 
mitting  that  it  was  to  terminate  with  his  last  breath,  had 
been  not  unkindly  given ;  with  no  higher  moral  responsi 
bilities  than  the  beasts  of  the  field,  but  with  a  larger 
scope  of  enjoyment  than  theirs,  and  with  all  their  blessed 
immunity  from  the  dreariness  and  duskiness  of  age. 

One  point,  in  which  he  had  vastly  the  advantage  over 
his  four-footed  brethren,  was  his  ability  to  recollect  the 
good  dinners  which  it  had  made  no  small  portion  of  the 
happiness  of  his  life  to  eat.  His  gourmandism  was  a 
highly  agreeable  trait;  and  to  hear  him  talk  of  roast- 
meat  was  as  appetizing  as  a  pickle  or  an  oyster.  As  he 
possessed  no  higher  attribute,  and  neither  sacrificed  nor 
vitiated  any  spiritual  endowment  by  devoting  all  his  ener 
gies  and  ingenuities  to  subserve  the  delight  and  profit  of 
his  maw,  it  always  pleased  and  satisfied  me  to  hear  him 
expatiate  on  fish,  poultry,  and  butcher's  meat,  and  the 
most  eligible  methods  of  preparing  them  for  the  table.  His 
reminiscences  of  good  cheer,  however  ancient  the  date  of 
the  actual  banquet,  seemed  to  bring  the  savor  of  pig  or 
turkey  under  one's  very  nostrils.  There  were  flavors  on 
his  palate,  that  had  lingered  there  not  less  than  sixty  or 
seventy  years,  and  were  still  apparently  as  fresh  as  that 
of  the  mutton-chop  which  he  had  just  devoured  for  his 
breakfast.  I  have  heard  him  smack  his  lips  over  dinners, 
every  guest  at  which,  except  himself,  had  long  been  food 
for  worms.  It  was  marvellous  to  observe  how  the  ghosts 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  27 

of  bygone  meals  were  continually  rising  up  before  him ; 
not  in  anger  or  retribution,  but  as  if  grateful  for  his  for 
mer  appreciation  and  seeking  to  reduplicate  an  endless 
series  of  enjoyment,  at  once  shadowy  and  sensual.  A 
tender-loin  of  beef,  a  hind-quarter  of  veal,  a  spare-rib  of 
pork,  a  particular  chicken,  or  a  remarkably  praiseworthy 
turkey,  which  had  perhaps  adorned  his  board  in  the 
days  of  the  elder  Adams,  would  be  remembered ;  while 
all  the  subsequent  experience  of  our  race,  and  all  the 
events  that  brightened  or  darkened  his  individual  career, 
had  gone  over  him  with  as  little  permanent  effect  as  the 
passing  breeze.  The  chief  tragic  event  of  the  old  man's 
life,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  was  his  mishap  with  a  cer 
tain  goose  which  lived  and  died  some  twenty  or  forty 
years  ago ;  a  goose  of  most  promising  figure,  but  which, 
at  table,  proved  so  inveterately  tough  that  the  carving- 
knife  would  make  no  impression  on  its  carcass,  and  it 
could  only  be  divided  with  an  axe  and  handsaw. 

But  it  is  time  to  quit  this  sketch ;  on  which,  however, 
I  should  be  glad  to  dwell  at  considerably  more  length 
because,  of  all  men  whom  I  have  ever  known,  this  indi 
vidual  was  fittest  to  be  a  Custom-House  officer.  Most 
persons,  owing  to  causes  which  I  may  not  have  space  to 
hint  at,  suffer  moral  detriment  from  this  peculiar  mode 
of  life.  The  old  Inspector  was  incapable  of  it,  and, 
were  he  to  continue  in  office  to  the  end  of  time,  would 
be  just  as  good  as  he  was  then,  and  sit  down  to  dinner 
with  just  as  good  an  appetite. 

There  is  one  likeness,  without  which  my  gallery  of 
Custom-House  portraits  would  be  strangely  incomplete  ; 
but  which  my  comparatively  few  opportunities  for  obser 
vation  enable  me  to  sketch  only  in  the  merest  outline. 
It  is  that  of  the  Collector,  our  gallant  old  General,  who, 
after  his  brilliant  military  service,  subsequently  to  which 


28  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

he  had  ruled  over  a  wild  Western  territory,  had  come 
hither,  twenty  years  before,  to  spend  the  decline  of  his 
varied  and  honorable  life.  The  brave  soldier  had  already 
numbered,  nearly  or  quite,  his  threescore  years  and  ten, 
and  was  pursuing  the  remainder  of  his  earthly  march, 
burdened  with  infirmities  which  even  the  martial  music 
of  his  own  spirit-stirring  recollections  could  do  little 
towards  lightening.  The  step  was  palsied  now,  that 
had  been  foremost  in  the  charge.  It  was  only  with  the 
assistance  of  a  servant,  and  by  leaning  his  hand  heavily 
on  the  iron  balustrade,  that  he  could  slowly  and  pain 
fully  ascend  the  Custom-Honse  steps,  and,  with  a  toil 
some  progress  across  the  floor,  attain  his  customary  chair 
beside  the  fireplace.  There  he  used  to  sit,  gazing  with 
a  somewhat  dim  serenity  of  aspect  at  the  figures  that 
came  and  went ;  amid  the  rustle  of  papers,  the  adminis 
tering  of  oaths,  the  discussion  of  business,  and  the  casual 
talk  of  the  office;  all  which  sounds  and  circumstances 
seemed  but  indistinctly  to  impress  his  senses,  and  hardly 
to  make  their  way  into  his  inner  sphere  of  contempla 
tion.  His  countenance,  in  this  repose,  was  mild  and 
kindly.  If  his  notice  was  sought,  an  expression  of  cour 
tesy  and  interest  gleamed  out  upon  his  features ;  prov 
ing  that  there  was  light  within  him,  and  that  it  was  only 
the  outward  medium  of  the  intellectual  lamp  that  ob 
structed  the  rays  in  their  passage.  The  closer  you  pen 
etrated  to  the  substance  of  his  mind,  the  sounder  it 
appeared.  When  no  longer  called  upon  to  speak,  or 
listen,  either  of  which  operations  cost  him  an  evident 
effort,  his  face  would  briefly  subside  into  its  former  not 
imcheerful  quietude.  It  was  not  painful  to  behold  this 
look ;  for,  though  dim,  it  had  not  the  imbecility  of  de 
caying  age.  The  framework  of  his  mature,  originally 
strong  and  massive,  was  not  yet  crumbled  into  ruin. 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  £9 

To  observe  and  define  his  character,  however,  under 
such  disadvantages,  was  as  difficult  a  task  as  to  trace 
out  and  build  up  anew,  in  imagination,  an  old  fortress, 
like  Ticonderoga,  from  a  view  of  its  gray  and  broken 
ruins.  Here  and  there,  perchance,  the  walls  may  remain 
almost  complete,  but  elsewhere  may  be  only  a  shape 
less  mound,  cumbrous  with  its  very  strength,  and  over 
grown,  through  long  years  of  peace  and  neglect,  with 
grass  and  alien  weeds. 

Nevertheless,  looking  at  the  old  warrior  with  affec 
tion,  —  for,  slight  as  was  the  communication  between 
us,  my  feeling  towards  him,  like  that  of  all  bipeds  and 
quadrupeds  who  knew  him,  might  not  improperly  be 
termed  so,  —  I  could  discern  the  main  points  of  his 
portrait.  It  was  marked  with  the  noble  and  heroic 
qualities  which  showed  it  to  be  not  by  a  mere  accident, 
but  of  good  right,  that  he  had  won  a  distinguished  name. 
His  spirit  could  never,  I  conceive,  have  been  character 
ized  by  an  uneasy  activity  ;  it  must,  at  any  period  of  his 
life,  have  required  an  impulse  to  set  him  in  motion ; 
but,  once  stirred  up,  with  obstacles  to  overcome,  and  an 
adequate  object  to  be  attained,  it  was  not  in  the  man  to 
give  out  or  fail.  The  heat  that  had  formerly  pervaded 
his  nature,  and  which  was  not  yet  extinct,  was  never  of 
the  kind  that  flashes  and  flickers  in  a  blaze ;  but,  rather, 
a  deep,  red  glow,  as  of  iron  in  a  furnace.  Weight,  solid 
ity,  firmness ;  this  was  the  expression  of  his  repose,  even 
in  such  decay  as  had  crept  untimely  over  him,  at  the 
period  of  which  I  speak.  But  I  could  imagine,  even 
then,  that,  under  some  excitement  which  should  go 
deeply  into  his  consciousness,  —  roused  by  a  trumpet- 
peal,  loud  enough  to  awaken  all  his  energies  that  were 
not  dead,  but  only  slumbering,  —  he  was  yet  capable  of 
flinging  off  his  infirmities  like  a  sick  man's  gown,  drop- 


30  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

ping  the  staff  of  age  to  seize  a  battle -sword,  and  starting 
up  once  more  a  warrior.  And,  in  so  intense  a  moment, 
his  demeanor  would  have  still  been  calm.  Such  an  ex 
hibition,  however,  was  but  to  be  pictured  in  fancy ;  not 
to  be  anticipated,  nor  desired.  What  I  saw  in  him  — 
as  evidently  as  the  indestructible  ramparts  of  Old  Ticon- 
deroga  already  cited  as  the  most  appropriate  simile  — 
were  the  features  of  stubborn  and  ponderous  endurance, 
which  might  well  have  amounted  to  obstinacy  in  his 
earlier  days ;  of  integrity,  that,  like  most  of  his  other 
endowments,  lay  in  a  somewhat  heavy  mass,  and  was 
just  as  unmalleable  and  unmanageable  as  a  ton  of  iron 
ore ;  and  of  benevolence,  which,  fiercely  as  he  led  the 
bayonets  on  at  Chippewa  or  Tort  Erie,  I  take  to  be  of 
quite  as  genuine  a  stamp  as  what  actuates  any  or  all  the 
polemical  philanthropists  of  the  age.  He  had  slain  men 
with  his  own  hand,  for  aught  I  know,  —  certainly,  they 
had  fallen,  like  blades  of  grass  at  the  sweep  of  the 
scythe,  before  the  charge  to  which  his  spirit  imparted 
its  triumphant  energy ;  —  but,  be  that  as  it  might,  there 
was  never  in  his  heart  so  much  cruelty  as  would  have 
brushed  the  down  off  a  butterfly's  wing.  I  have  not 
known  the  man,  to  whose  innate  kindliness  I  would 
more  confidently  make  an  appeal. 

Many  characteristics  —  and  those,  too,  which  contrib 
ute  not  the  least  forcibly  to  impart  resemblance  in  a  sketch 
—  must  have  vanished,  or  been  obscured,  before  I  met 
the  General.  All  merely  graceful  attributes  are  usually 
the  most  evanescent ;  nor  does  Nature  adorn  the  human 
ruin  with  blossoms  of  new  beauty,  that  have  their  roots 
and  proper  nutriment  only  in  the  chinks  and  crevices  of 
decay,  as  she  sows  wall-flowers  over  the  ruined  fortress 
of  Ticonderoga.  Still,  even  in  respect  of  grace  and 
beauty,  there  were  points  well  worth  noting.  A  ray  of 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  31 

humor,  now  and  then,  would  make  its  way  through  the 
veil  of  dim  obstruction,  and  glimmer  pleasantly  upon 
our  faces.  A  trait  of  native  elegance,  seldom  seen  in  the 
masculine  character  after  childhood  or  early  youth,  was 
shown  in  the  General's  fondness  for  the  sight  and  fra 
grance  of  flowers.  An  old  soldier  might  be  supposed  to 
prize  only  the  bloody  laurel  on  his  brow ;  but  here  was 
one  who  seemed  to  have  a  young  girl's  appreciation  of 
the  floral  tribe. 

There,  beside  the  fireplace,  the  brave  old  General  used 
to  sit ;  while  the  Surveyor  —  though  seldom,  when  it 
could  be  avoided,  taking  upon  himself  the  difficult  task 
of  engaging  him  in  conversation  —  was  fond  of  standing 
at  a  distance,  and  watching  his  quiet  and  almost  slum 
berous  countenance.  He  seemed  away  from  us,  although 
we  saw  him  but  a  few  yards  off ;  remote,  though  we 
passed  close  beside  his  chair;  unattainable,  though  we 
might  have  stretched  forth  our  hands  and  touched  his 
own.  It  might  be  that  he  lived  a  more  real  life  within 
his  thoughts,  than  amid  the  unappropriate  environment 
of  the  Collector's  office.  The  evolutions  of  the  parade ; 
the  tumult  of  the  battle ;  the  flourish  of  old,  heroic  mu 
sic,  heard  thirty  years  before  ;  —  such  scenes  and  sounds, 
perhaps,  were  all  alive  before  his  intellectual  sense. 
Meanwhile,  the  merchants  and  shipmasters,  the  spruce 
clerks  and  uncouth  sailors,  entered  and  departed ;  the 
bustle  of  this  commercial  and  Custom-House  life  kept  up 
its  little  murmur  round  about  him ;  and  neither  with  the 
men  nor  their  affairs  did  the  General  appear  to  sustain 
the  most  distant  relation.  He  was  as  much  out  of  place 
as  an  old  sword  —  now  rusty,  but  which  had  flashed  once 
in  the  battle's  front,  and  showed  still  a  bright  gleam  along 
its  blade  — would  have  been,  among  the  inkstands,  paper- 
folders,  and  mahogany  rulers,  on  the  Deputy  Collector's 
desk. 


32  THE    SCARLET   LETTER. 

There  was  one  thing  that  much  aided  me  in  renewing 
and  re-creating  the  stalwart  soldier  of  the  Niagara  frontier, 
—  the  man  of  true  and  simple  energy.  It  was  the  recol 
lection  of  those  memorable  words  of  his,  — "I  '11  try, 
Sir !  "  —  spoken  on  the  very  verge  of  a  desperate  and 
heroic  enterprise,  and  breathing  the  soul  and  spirit  of 
New  England  hardihood,  comprehending  all  perils,  and 
encountering  all.  If,  in  our  country,  valor  were  rewarded 
by  heraldic  honor,  this  phrase  —  which  it  seems  so  easy 
to  speak,  but  which  only  he,  with  such  a  task  of  danger 
and  glory  before  him,  has  ever  spoken  —  would  be  the 
best  and  fittest  of  all  mottoes  for  the  General's  shield  of 
arms. 

It  contributes  greatly  towards  a  man's  moral  and  intel 
lectual  health,  to  be  brought  into  habits  of  companion 
ship  with  individuals  unlike  himself,  who  care  little  for 
his  pursuits,  and  whose  sphere  and  abilities  he  must  go 
out  of  himself  to  appreciate.  The  accidents  of  my  life 
have  often  afforded  me  this  advantage,  but  never  with 
more  fulness  and  variety  than  during  my  continuance  in 
office.  There  was  one  man,  especially,  the  observation 
of  whose  character  gave  me  a  new  idea  of  talent.  His 
gifts  were  emphatically  those  of  a  man  of  business ; 
prompt,  acute,  clear-minded;  with  an  eye  that  saw 
through  all  perplexities,  and  a  faculty  of  arrangement 
that  made  them  vanish,  as  by  the  waving  of  an  enchant 
er's  wand.  Bred  up  from  boyhood  in  the  Custom-House, 
it  was  his  proper  field  of  activity ;  and  the  many  intri 
cacies  of  business,  so  harassing  to  the  interloper,  pre 
sented  themselves  before  him  with  the  regularity  of  a 
perfectly  comprehended  system.  In  my  contemplation, 
he  stood  as  the  ideal  of  his  class.  He  was,  indeed,  the 
Custom-House  in  himself;  or,  at  all  events,  the  main 
spring  that  kept  its  variously  revolving  wheels  in  mo- 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  33 

tion ;  for,  in  an  institution  like  this,  where  its  officers 
are  appointed  to  subserve  their  own  profit  and  conven 
ience,  and  seldom  with  a  leading  reference  to  their  fitness 
for  the  duty  to  be  performed,  they  must  perforce  seek 
elsewhere  the  dexterity  which  is  not  in  them.  Thus,  by 
an  inevitable  necessity,  as  a  magnet  attracts  steel-filings, 
so  did  our  man  of  business  draw  to  himself  the  difficulties 
which  everybody  met  with.  With  an  easy  condescen 
sion,  and  kind  forbearance  towards  our  stupidity,  — 
which,  to  his  order  of  mind,  must  have  seemed  little 
short  of  crime, — would  he  forthwith,  by  the  merest 
touch  of  his  finger,  make  the  incomprehensible  as  clear 
as  daylight.  The  merchants  valued  him  not  less  than 
we,  his  esoteric  friends.  His  integrity  was  perfect:  it 
was  a  law  of  nature  with  him,  rather  than  a  choice  or  a 
principle ;  nor  can  it  be  otherwise  than  the  main  condi 
tion  of  an  intellect  so  remarkably  clear  and  accurate  as 
his,  to  be  honest  and  regular  in  the  administration  of 
affairs.  A  stain  on  his  conscience,  as  to  anything  that 
came  within  the  range  of  his  vocation,  would  trouble 
such  a  man  very  much  in  the  same  way,  though  to  a  far 
greater  degree,  than  an  error  in  the  balance  of  an  ac 
count,  or  an  ink-blot  on  the  fair  page  of  a  book  of  record. 
Here,  in  a  word,  —  and  it  is  a  rare  instance  in  my  life, 
- 1  had  met  with  a  person  thoroughly  adapted  to  the 
situation  which  he  held. 

Such  were  some  of  the  people  with  whom  I  now  found 
myself  connected.  I  took  it  in  good  part,  at  the  hands 
of  Providence,  that  I  was  thrown  into  a  position  so  little 
akin  to  my  past  habits,  and  set  myself  seriously  to  gather 
from  it  whatever  profit  was  to  be  had.  After  my  fellow 
ship  of  toil  and  impracticable  schemes  with  the  dreamy 
brethren  of  Brook  Farm ;  after  living  for  three  years 
within  the  subtile  influence  of  an  intellect  like  Emerson's  j 
2*  c 


84  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

after  those  wild,  free  days  on  the  Assabeth,  indulging 
fantastic  speculations,  beside  our  fire  of  fallen  boughs, 
with  Ellery  Channing;  after  talking  with  Thoreau 
about  pine-trees  and  Indian  relics,  in  his  hermitage  at 
Walden ;  after  growing  fastidious  by  sympathy  with  the 
classic  refinement  of  Hillard's  culture;  after  becoming 
imbued  with  poetic  sentiment  at  Longfellow's  hearth 
stone  ;  —  it  was  time,  at  length,  that  I  should  exercise 
other  faculties  of  my  nature,  and  nourish  myself  with 
food  for  which  I  had  hitherto  had  little  appetite.  Even 
the  old  Inspector  was  desirable,  as  a  change  of  diet,  to 
a  man  who  had  known  Alcott.  I  look  upon  it  as  an 
evidence,  in  some  measure,  of  a  system  naturally  well 
balanced,  and  lacking  no  essential  part  of  a  thorough 
organization,  that,  with  such  associates  to  remember, 
I  could  mingle  at  once  with  men  of  altogether  different 
qualities,  and  never  murmur  at  the  change. 

Literature,  its  exertions  and  objects,  were  now  of  little 
moment  in  my  regard.  I  cared  not,  at  this  period,  for 
books ;  they  were  apart  from  me.  Nature,  —  except  it 
were  human  nature,  —  the  nature  that  is  developed  in 
earth  and  sky,  was,  in  one  sense,  hidden  from  me ;  and 
all  the  imaginative  delight,  wherewith  it  had  been  spirit 
ualized,  passed  away  out  of  my  mind.  A  gift,  a  faculty 
if  it  had  not  departed,  was  suspended  and  inanimate 
within  me.  There  would  have  been  something  sad,  un 
utterably  dreary,  in  all  this,  had  I  not  been  conscious 
that  it  lay  at  my  own  option  to  recall  whatever  was  valu 
able  in  the  past.  It  might  be  true,  indeed,  that  this  was 
a  life  which  could  not  with  impunity  be  lived  too  long  ; 
else,  it  might  have  made  me  permanently  other  than  I 
had  been  without  transforming  me  into  any  shape  which 
it  would  be  worth  my  while  to  take.  But  I  never 
considered  it  as  other  than  a  transitory  life.  There  was 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  35 

always  a  prophetic  instinct,  a  low  whisper  in  my  ear,  that, 
within  no  long  period,  and  whenever  a  new  change  of 
custom  should  be  essential  to  my  good,  a  change  would 
come. 

Meanwhile,  there  I  was,  a  Surveyor  of  the  Revenue, 
and,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  understand,  as  good  a 
Surveyor  as  need  be.  A  man  of  thought,  fancy,  and 
sensibility  (had  he  ten  times  the  Surveyor's  proportion 
of  those  qualities)  may,  at  any  time,  be  a  man  of  affairs, 
if  he  will  only  choose  to  give  himself  the  trouble.  My 
fellow-officers,  and  the  merchants  and  sea-captains  with 
whom  my  official  duties  brought  me  into  any  manner  of 
connection,  viewed  me  in  no  other  light,  and  probably 
knew  me  in  no  other  character.  None  of  them,  I  pre 
sume,  had  ever  read  a  page  of  my  inditing,  or  would 
have  cared  a  fig  the  more  for  me,  if  they  had  read  them 
all ;  nor  would  it  have  mended  the  matter,  in  the  least, 
had  those  same  unprofitable  pages  been  written  with  a 
pen  like  that  of  Burns  or  of  Chaucer,  each  of  whom  was 
a  Custom-House  officer  in  his  day,  as  well  as  I.  It  is  a 
good  lesson  —  though  it  may  often  be  a  hard  one  —  for 
a  man  who  has  dreamed  of  literary  fame,  and  of  making 
for  himself  a  rank  among  the  world's  dignitaries  by  such 
means,  to  step  aside  out  of  the  narrow  circle  in  which  his 
claims  are  recognized,  and  to  find  how  utterly  devoid  of 
significance,  beyond  that  circle,  is  all  that  he  achieves, 
and  all  he  aims  at.  I  know  not  that  I  especially  needed 
the  lesson,  either  in  the  way  of  warning  or  rebuke  ;  but, 
at  any  rate,  I  learned  it  thoroughly:  nor,  it  gives  me 
pleasure  to  reflect,  did  the  truth,  as  it  came  home  to 
my  perception,  ever  cost  me  a  pang,  or  require  to  be 
thrown  off  in  a  sigh.  In  the  way  of  literary  talk,  it  is 
true,  the  Naval  Officer  —  an  excellent  fellow,  who  came 
into  office  with  me  and  went  out  only  a  little  later — • 


56  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

would  often  engage  me  in  a  discussion  about  one  or  the 
other  of  his  favorite  topics,  Napoleon  or  Shakespeare. 
The  Collector's  junior  clerk,  too, — a  young  gentleman 
who,  it  was  whispered,  occasionally  covered  a  sheet  of 
Uncle  Sam's  letter-paper  with  what  (at  the  distance  of  a 
few  yards)  looked  very  much  like  poetry,  —  used  now 
and  then  to  speak  to  me  of  books,  as  matters  with  which 
I  might  possibly  be  conversant.  This  was  my  all  of 
lettered  intercourse ;  and  it  was  quite  sufficient  for  my 
necessities. 

No  longer  seeking  nor  caring  that  my  name  should  be 
blazoned  abroad  on  title-pages,  I  smiled  to  think  that  it 
had  now  another  kind  of  vogue.  The  Gustom-House 
marker  imprinted  it,  with  a  stencil  and  black  paint,  on 
pepper-bags,  and  baskets  of  anatto,  and  cigar-boxes,  and 
bales  of  all  kinds  of  dutiable  merchandise,  in  testimony 
that  these  commodities  had  paid  the  impost,  and  gone 
regularly  through  the  office.  Borne  on  such  queer  vehi 
cle  of  fame,  a  knowledge  of  my  existence,  so  far  as  a 
name  conveys  it,  was  carried  where  it  had  never  been 
before,  and,  I  hope,  will  never  go  again. 

But  the  past  was  not  dead.  Once  in  a  great  while, 
the  thoughts,  that  had  seemed  so  vital  and  so  active,  yet 
had  been  put  to  rest  so  quietly,  revived  again.  .  One  of 
the  most  remarkable  occasions,  when  the  habit  of  by 
gone  days  awoke  in  me,  was  that  which  brings  it  within 
the  law  of  literary  propriety  to  offer  the  public  the  sketch 
which  I  am  now  writing. 

In  the  second  story  of  the  Custom-House  there  is  a 
large  room,  in  which  the  brick-work  and  naked  rafters 
have  never  been  covered  with  panelling  and  plaster. 
The  edifice  —  originally  projected  on  a  scale  adapted  to 
the  old  commercial  enterprise  of  the  port,  and  with  an 
idea  of  subsequent  prosperity  destined  never  to  be  real- 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  87 


ized  —  contains  far  more  space  than  its  occupants 
what  to  do  with.  This  airy  hall,  therefore,  over  the 
Collector's  apartments,  remains  unfinished  to  this  day, 
and,  in  spite  of  the  aged  cobwebs  that  festoon  its  dusky 
beams,  appears  still  to  await  the  labor  of  the  carpenter 
and  mason.  At  one  end  of  the  room,  in  a  recess,  were 
a  number  of  barrels,  piled  one  upon  another,  containing 
bundles  of  official  documents.  Large  quantities  of  sim 
ilar  rubbish  lay  lumbering  the  floor.  It  was  sorrowful 
to  think  how  many  days  and  weeks  and  months  and 
years  of  toil  had  been  wasted  on  these  musty  papers, 
which  were  now  only  an  encumbrance  on  earth,  and 
were  hidden  away  in  this  forgotten  corner,  never  more 
to  be  glanced  at  by  human  eyes.  But,  then,  what  reams 
of  other  manuscripts  —  filled  not  with  the  dulness  of  offi 
cial  formalities,  but  with  the  thought  of  inventive  brains 
and  the  rich  effusion  of  deep  hearts  —  had  gone  equally 
to  oblivion  ;  and  that,  moreover,  without  serving  a  pur 
pose  in  their  day,  as  these  heaped-up  papers  had,  and  — 
saddest  of  all  —  without  purchasing  for  their  writers  the 
comfortable  livelihood  which  the  clerks  of  the  Custom- 
House  had  gained  by  these  worthless  scratchings  of  the 
pen!  Yet  not  altogether  worthless,  perhaps,  as  mate 
rials  of  local  history.  Here,  no  doubt,  statistics  of  the 
former  commerce  of  Salem  might  be  discovered,  and 
memorials  of  her  princely  merchants,  —  old  King  Derby, 
—  old  Billy  Gray,  —  old  Simon  Forrester,  —  and  many 
another  magnate  in  his  day;  whose  powdered  head, 
however,  was  scarcely  in  the  tomb,  before  his  moun 
tain  pile  of  wealth  began  to  dwindle.  The  founders  of 
the  greater  part  of  the  families  which  now  compose 
the  aristocracy  of  Salem  might  here  be  traced,  from 
the  petty  and  obscure  beginnings  of  their  traffic,  at 
periods  generally  much  posterior  to  the  Revolution,  up- 


38  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

ward  to  what  their  children  look  upon  as  long-established 
rank. 

Prior  to  the  Revolution,  there  is  a  dearth  of  records ; 
the  earlier  documents  and  archives  of  the  Custom-House 
having,  probably,  been  carried  off  to  Halifax,  when  all 
the  King's  officials  accompanied  the  British  army  in  its 
flight  from  Boston.  It  has  often  been  a  matter  of  regret 
with  me;  for,  going  back,  perhaps,  to  the  days  of  the 
Protectorate,  those  papers  must  have  contained  many 
references  to  forgotten  or  remembered  men,  and  to  an 
tique  customs,  which  would  have  affected  me  with  the 
same  pleasure  as  when  I  used  to  pick  up  Indian  arrow 
heads  in  the  field  near  the  Old  Manse. 

But,  one  idle  and  rainy  day,  it  was  my  fortune  to 
make  a  discovery  of  some  little  interest.  Poking  and 
burrowing  into  the  heaped-up  rubbish  in  the  corner; 
unfolding  one  and  another  document,  and  reading  the 
names  of  vessels  that  had  long  ago  foundered  at  sea 
or  rotted  at  the  wharves,  and  those  of  merchants,  never 
heard  of  now  on  'Change,  nor  very  readily  decipherable 
on  their  mossy  tombstones ;  glancing  at  such  matters 
with  the  saddened,  weary,  half-reluctant  interest  which 
we  bestow  on  the  corpse  of  dead  activity,  —  and  exerting 
my  fancy,  sluggish  with  little  use,  to  raise  up  from  these 
dry  bones  an  image  of  the  oid  town's  brighter  aspect, 
when  India  was  a  new  region,  and  only  Salem  knew 
the  way  thither,  — I  chanced  to  lay  my  hand  on  a  small 
package,  carefully  done  up  in  a  piece  of  ancient  yellow 
parchment.  This  envelope  had  the  air  of  an  official  rec 
ord  of  some  period  long  past,  when  clerks  engrossed 
their  stiff  and  formal  chirography  on  more  substantial 
materials  than  at  present.  There  was  something  about 
it  that  quickened  an  instinctive  curiosity,  and  made  me 
undo  the  faded  red  tape,  that  tied  up  the  package,  with 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  39 

the  sense  that  a  treasure  would  here  be  brought  to  light. 
Unbending  the  rigid  folds  of  the  parchment  cover,  I 
found  it  to  be  a  commission,  under  the  hand  and  seal  of 
Governor  Shirley,  in  favor  of  one  Jonathan  Pue,  as  Sur 
veyor  of  his  Majesty's  Customs  for  the  port  of  Salem,  in 
the  Province  of  Massachusetts  Bay.  I  remembered  to 
have  read  (probaby  in  Felt's  Annals)  a  notice  of  the  de 
cease  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  about  fourscore  years  ago ; 
and  likewise,  in  a  newspaper  of  recent  times,  an  account 
of  the  digging  up  of  his  remains  in  the  little  graveyard 
of  St.  Peter's  Church,  during  the  renewal  of  that  edifice. 
Nothing,  if  I  rightly  call  to  mind,  was  left  of  my  respeo^d 
predecessor,  save  an  imperfect  skeleton,  and  some  frag 
ments  of  apparel,  and  a  wig  of  majestic  frizzle ;  which, 
unlike  the  head  that  it  once  adorned,  was  in  very  sat 
isfactory  preservation.  But,  on  examining  the  papers 
which  the  parchment  commission  served  to  envelop,  I 
found  more  traces  of  Mr.  Pue's  mental  part,  and  the  in 
ternal  operations  of  his  head,  than  the  frizzled  wig  had 
contained  of  the  venerable  skull  itself. 

They  were  documents,  in  short,  not  official,  but  of  a 
private  nature,  or,  at  least,  written  in  his  private  capacity, 
and  apparently  with  his  own  hand.  I  could  account  fox 
their  being  included  in  the  heap  of  Custom-House  lumber 
only  by  the  fact  that  Mr.  Pue's  death  had  happened  sud 
denly  ;  and  that  these  papers,  which  he  probably  kept  in 
his  official  desk,  had  never  come  to  the  knowledge  of  his 
heirs,  or  were  supposed  to  relate  to  the  business  of  the 
revenue.  On  the  transfer  of  the  archives  to  Halifax,  this 
package,  proving  to  be  of  no  public  concern,  was  left 
behind,  and  had  remained  ever  since  unopened. 

The  ancient  Surveyor  —  being  little  molested,  I  sup 
pose,  at  that  early  day,  with  business  pertaining  to  his 
office  —  seems  to  have  devoted  some  of  his  many  leisurs 


40  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

hours  to  researches  as  a  local  antiquarian,  and  other 
inquisitions  of  a  similar  nature.  These  supplied  material 
for  petty  activity  to  a  mind  that  would  otherwise  have 
been  eaten  up  with  rust.  A  portion  of  his  facts,  by  the 
by,  did  me  good  service  in  the  preparation  of  the  article 
entitled  "  MAIN  STREET,"  included  in  the  present  volume. 
The  remainder  may  perhaps  be  applied  to  purposes 
equally  valuable,  hereafter ;  or  not  impossibly  may  be 
worked  up,  so  far  as  they  go,  into  a  regular  history  of 
Salem,  should  my  veneration  for  the  natal  soil  ever  impel 
me  to  so  pious  a  task.  Meanwhile,  they  shall  be  at  the 
command  of  any  gentleman,  inclined,  and  competent,  to 
take  the  unprofitable  labor  off  my  hands.  As  a  final 
disposition,  I  contemplate  depositing  them  with  the  Essex 
Historical  Society. 

But  the  object  that  most  drew  my  attention,  in  the 
mysterious  package,  was  a  certain  affair  of  fine  red  cloth, 
much  woni  and  faded.  There  were  traces  about  it  of 
gold  embroidery,  which,  however,  was  greatly  frayed  and 
defaced ;  so  that  none,  or  very  little,  of  the  glitter  was 
left.  It  had  been  wrought,  as  was  easy  to  perceive,  with 
wonderful  skill  of  needlework  ;  and  the  stitch  (as  I  am 
assured  by  ladies  conversant  with  such  mysteries)  gives 
evidence  of  a  now  forgotten  art,  not  to  be  recovered  even 
by  the  process  of  picking  out  the  threads.  This  rag  of 
scarlet  cloth,  —  for  time  and  wear  and  a  sacrilegious 
moth  had  reduced  it  to  little  other  than  a  rag,  —  on  care 
ful  examination,  assumed  the  shape  of  a  letter.  It  was 
the  capita]  letter  A.  By  an  accurate  measurement,  each 
limb  proved  to  be  precisely  three  inches  and  a  quarter  in 
length.  It  had  been  intended,  there  could  be  no  doubt,, 
as  an  ornamental  article  of  dress  ;  but  how  it  was  to  be 
worn,  or  what  rank,  honor,  and  dignity,  in  by -past  times, 
were  signified  by  it,  was  a  riddle  which  (so  evanescent  are 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  41 

the  fashions  of  the  world  in  these  particulars)  I  saw  little 
hope  of  solving.  And  yet  it  strangely  interested  me. 
My  eyes  fastened  themselves  upon  the  old  scarlet  letter, 
and  would  not  be  turned  aside.  Certainly,  there  was 
some  deep  meaning  in  it,  most  worthy  of  interpretation, 
and  which,  as  it  were,  streamed  forth  from  the  mystic 
symbol,  subtly  communicating  itself  to  my  sensibilities, 
but  evading  the  analysis  of  my  mind. 

While  thus  perplexed,  —  and  cogitating,  among  other 
hypotheses,  whether  the  letter  might  not  have  been  one 
of  those  decorations  which  the  white  men  used  to  con 
trive,  in  order  to  take  the  eyes  of  Indians,  —  I  happened 
to  place  it  on  my  breast.  It  seemed  to  me,  —  the  reader 
may  smile,  but  must  not  doubt  my  word,  —  it  seemed  to 
me,  then,  that  I  experienced  a  sensation  not  altogether 
physical,  yet  almost  so,  as  of  burning  heat ;  and  as  if  the 
letter  were  not  of  red  cloth,  but  red-hot  iron.  I  shud 
dered,  and  involuntarily  let  it  fall  upon  the  floor. 

In  the  absorbing  contemplation  of  the  scarlet  letter,  I 
had  hitherto  neglected  to  examine  a  small  roll  of  dingy 
paper,  around  which  it  had  been  twisted.  This  I  now 
opened,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to  find,  recorded  by  the 
old  Surveyor's  pen,  a  reasonably  complete  explanation  of 
the  whole  affair.  There  were  several  foolscap  sheets  con 
taining  many  particulars  respecting  the  life  and  conversa 
tion  of  one  Hester  Prynne,  who  appeared  to  have  been 
rather  a  noteworthy  personage  in  the  view  of  our  ances 
tors.  She  had  flourished  during  the  period  between  the 
early  days  of  Massachusetts  and  the  close  of  the  seven 
teenth  century.  Aged  persons,  alive  in  the  time  of  Mr. 
Surveyor  Pue,  and  from  whose  oral  testimony  he  had 
made  up  his  narrative,  remembered  her,  in  their  youth, 
as  a  very  old,  but  not  decrepit  woman,  of  a  stately  and 
solemn  aspect.  It  had  been  her  habit,  from  an  almost 


42  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

immemorial  date,  to  go  about  the  country  as  a  kind  of 
voluntary  nurse,  and  doing  whatever  miscellaneous  good 
she  might ;  taking  upon  herself,  likewise,  to  give  advice 
in  all  matters,  especially  those  of  the  heart;  by  which 
means,  as  a  person  of  such  propensities  inevitably  must, 
she  gained  from  many  people  the  reverence  due  to  an 
angel,  but,  I  should  imagine,  was  looked  upon  by  others 
as  an  intruder  and  a  nuisance.  Prying  further  into  the 
manuscript,  I  found  the  record  of  other  doings  and  suffer 
ings  of  this  singular  woman,  for  most  of  which  the  reader 
is  referred  to  the  story  entitled  "  THE  SCARLET  LETTER  "  ; 
and  it  should  be  borne  carefully  in  mind,  that  the  main 
facts  of  that  story  are  authorized  and  authenticated  by 
the  document  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue.  The  original  papers, 
together  with  the  scarlet  letter  itself,  —  a  most  curious 
relic,  —  are  still  in  my  possession,  and  shall  be  freely 
exhibited  to  whomsoever,  induced  by  the  great  interest 
of  the  narrative,  may  desire  a  sight  of  them.  I  must 
not  be  understood  as  affirming,  that,  in  the  dressing  up 
of  the  tale,  and  imagining  the  motives  and  modes  of  pas 
sion  that  influenced  the  characters  who  figure  in  it,  I 
have  invariably  confined  myself  within  the  limits  of  the 
old  Surveyor's  half  a  dozen  sheets  of  foolscap.  On  the 
contrary,  I  have  allowed  myself,  as  to  such  points,  nearly 
or  altogether  as  much  license  as  if  the  facts  had  been  en 
tirely  of  my  own  invention.  What  I  contend  for  is  the 
authenticity  of  the  outline. 

This  incident  recalled  my  mind,  in  some  degree,  to  its 
old  track.  There  seemed  to  be  here  the  groundwork  of 
a  tale.  It  impressed  me  as  if  the  ancient  Surveyor,  in 
his  garb  of  a  hundred  years  gone  by,  and  wearing  his 
immortal  wig,  —  which  was  buried  with  him,  but  did  not 
perish  in  the  grave,  — had  met  me  in  the  deserted  cham 
ber  of  the  Custom-House.  In  his  port  was  the  dignity 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  4 

of  one  who  had  borne  his  Majesty's  commission,  and  who 
was  therefore  illuminated  by  a  ray  of  the  splendor  that 
shone  so  dazzlingly  about  the  throne.  How  unlike,  alas ! 
the  hang-dog  look  of  a  republican  official,  who,  as  the 
servant  of  the  people,  feels  himself  less  than  the  least, 
and  below  the  lowest,  of  his  masters.  With  his  own 
ghostly  hand,  the  obscurely  seen  but  majestic  figure  had 
imparted  to  me  the  scarlet  symbol,  and  the  little  roll  of 
explanatory  manuscript.  With  his  own  ghostly  voice, 
ie  had  exhorted  me,  on  the  sacred  consideration  of  my 
filial  duty  and  reverence  towards  him,  —who  might  rea 
sonably  regard  himself  as  my  official  ancestor,  —  to  bring 
his  mouldy  and  moth-eaten  lucubrations  before  the  public. 
"  Do  this/5  said  the  ghost  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  emphati 
cally  nodding  the  head  that  looked  so  imposing  within 
its  memorable  wig,  —  "  do  this,  and  the  profit  shall  be  all 
your  own !  You  will  shortly  need  it ;  for  it  is  not  in 
your  days  as  it  was  in  mine,  when  a  man's  office  was  a 
life-lease,  and  oftentimes  an  heirloom.  But,  I  charge 
you,  in  this  matter  of  old  Mistress  Prynne,  give  to  your 
predecessor's  memory  the  credit  which  will  be  rightfully 
due !  "  And  I  said  to  the  ghost  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue, 
"I  will!" 

On  Hester  Prynne's  story,  therefore,  I  bestowed  much 
thought.  It  was  the  subject  of  my  meditations  for  many 
an  hour,  while  pacing  to  and  fro  across  my  room,  or  trav 
ersing,  with  a  hundred-fold  repetition,  the  long  extent 
from  the  front-door  of  the  Custom-House  to  the  side- 
entrance,  and  back  again.  Great  were  the  weariness  and 
annoyance  of  the  old  Inspector  and  the  Weighers  and 
Gaugers,  whose  slumbers  were  disturbed  by  the  unmer 
cifully  lengthened  tramp  of  my  passing  and  returning 
footsteps.  Remembering  their  own  former  habits,  they 
used  to  say  that  the  Surveyor  was  walking  the  quarter- 


44  THE    SCAELET    LETTER. 

deck.  They  probably  fancied  that  my  sole  object  —  and, 
indeed,  the  sole  object  for  which  a  sane  man  could  ever 
put  himself  into  voluntary  motion  —  was,  to  get  an  appe 
tite  for  dinner.  And  to  say  the  truth,  an  appetite,  sharp 
ened  by  the  east  wind  that  generally  blew  along  the  pas 
sage,  was  the  only  valuable  result  of  so  much  indefati 
gable  exercise.  So  little  adapted  is  the  atmosphere  of  a 
Custom-House  to  the  delicate  harvest  of  fancy  and  sensi 
bility,  that,  had  I  remained  there  through  ten  Presiden 
cies  yet  to  come,  I  doubt  whether  the  tale  of  "The 
Scarlet  Letter  "  would  ever  have  been  brought  before  the 
public  eye.  My  imagination  was  a  tarnished  mirror.  It- 
would  not  reflect,  or  only  with  miserable  dimness,  the 
figures  with  which  I  did  my  best  to  people  it.  The 
characters  of  the  narrative  would  not  be  warmed  and 
rendered  malleable  by  any  heat  that  I  could  kindle  at  my 
intellectual  forge.  They  would  take  neither  the  glow  of 
passion  nor  the  tenderness  of  sentiment,  but  retained  all 
the  rigidity  of  dead  corpses,  and  stared  me  in  the  face 
with  a  fixed  and  ghastly  grin  of  contemptuous  defiance. 
"  What  have  you  to  do  with  us  ?  "  that  expression  seemed 
to  say.  "  The  little  power  you  might  once  have  pos- 
~sessed  over  the  tribe  of  unrealities  is  gone!  You  have 
bartered  it  for  a  pittance  of  the  public  gold.  Go,  then, 
and  earn  your  wages ! "  In  short,  the  almost  torpid 
creatures  of  my  own  fancy  twitted  me  with  imbecility, 
and  not  without  fair  occasion. 

It  was  not  merely  during  the  three  hours  and  a  half 
which  Uncle  Sam  claimed  as  his  share  of  my  daily  life, 
that  this  wretched  numbness  held  possession  of  me.  It 
went  with  me  on  my  sea-shore  walks,  and  rambles  into 
the  country,  whenever  —  which  was  seldom  and  reluc 
tantly —  I  bestirred  myself  to  seek  that  invigorating  charm 
of  Nature,  which  used  to  give  me  such  freshness  and 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  45 

activity  of  thought,  the  moment  that  I  stepped  across  the 
threshold  of  the  Old  Manse.  The  same  torpor,  as  re 
garded  the  capacity  for  intellectual  effort,  accompanied 
me  home,  and  weighed  upon  me  in  the  chamber  which  I 
most  absurdly  termed  my  study.  Nor  did  it  quit  me, 
when,  late  at  night,  I  sat  in  the  deserted  parlor,  lighted 
only  by  the  glimmering  coal-fire  and  the  moon,  striving 
to  picture  forth  imaginary  scenes,  which,  the  next  day, 
might  flow  out  on  the  brightening  page  in  many-hued 
description. 

If  the  imaginative  faculty  refused  to  act  at  such  an 
hour,  it  might  well  be  deemed  a  hopeless  case.  Moon 
light,  in  a  familiar  room,  falling  so  white  upon  the  carpet, 
and  showing  all  its  figures  so  distinctly,  —  making  every 
object  so  minutely  visible,  yet  so  unlike  a  morning  or 
noontide  visibility,  —  is  a  medium  the  most  suitable  for 
a  romance-writer  to  get  acquainted  with  his  illusive 
guests.  There  is  the  little  domestic  scenery  of  the  well- 
known  apartment ;  the  chairs,  with  each  its  separate  indi 
viduality;  the  centre-table,  sustaining  a  work-basket,  a 
volume  or  two,  and  an  extinguished  lamp ;  the  sofa ;  the 
bookcase ;  the  picture  on  the  wall ;  —  all  these  details, 
so  completely  seen,  are  so  spiritualized  by  the  unusual 
light,  that  they  seem  to  lose  their  actual  substance,  and 
become  things  of  intellect.  Nothing  is  too  small  or  too 
trifling  to  undergo  this  change,  and  acquire  dignity  there 
by.  A  child's  shoe;  the  doll,  seated  in  her  little  wicker j 
carriage ;  the  hobby-horse ;  —  whatever,  in  a  word,  has  /t 
been  used  or  played  with,  during  the  day,  is  now  invested ' 
with  a  quality  of  strangeness  and  remoteness,  though 
still  almost  as  vividly  present  as  by  daylight.  Thus, 
therefore,  the  floor  of  our  familiar  room  has  become  a 
neutral  territory,  somewhere  between  the  real  world  and 
fairy-land,  where  the  Actual  and  the  Imaginary  may 


46  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

meet,  and  each  imbue  itself  with  the  nature  of  the  other. 
Ghosts  might  enter  here,  without  affrighting  us.  It 
would  be  too  much  in  keeping  with  the  scene  to  excite 
surprise,  were  we  to  look  about  us  and  discover  a  form 
beloved,  but  gone  hence,  now  sitting  quietly  in  a  streak 
of  this  magic  moonshine,  with  an  aspect  that  would  make 
us  doubt  whether  it  had  returned  from  afar,  or  had  never 
once  stirred  from  our  fireside. 

The  somewhat  dim  coal-fire  has  an  essential  influence 
in  producing  the  effect  which  I  would  describe.  It  throws 
its  unobtrusive  tinge  throughout  the  room,  with  a  faint 
ruddiness  upon  the  walls  and  ceiling,  and  a  reflected 
gleam  from  the  polish  of  the  furniture.  This  warmer 
light  mingles  itself  with  the  cold  spirituality  of  the  moon 
beams,  and  communicates,  as  it  were,  a  heart  and  sensi 
bilities  of  human  tenderness  to  the  forms  which  fancy 
summons  up.  It  converts  them  from  snow-images  into 
men  and  women.  Glancing  at  the  looking-glass,  we  be 
hold —  deep  within  its  haunted  verge  —  the  smoulder 
ing  glow  of  Ihe  half-extinguished  anthracite,  the  white 
moonbeams  on  the  floor,  and  a  repetition  of  all  the  gleam 
and  shadow  of  the  picture,  with  one  remove  further  from 
the  actual,  and  nearer  to  the  imaginative.  Then,  at  such 
an  hour,  and  with  this  scene  before  him,  if  a  man,  sitting 
all  alone,  cannot  dream  strange  things,  and  make  them 
look  like  truth,  he  need  never  try  to  write  romances. 

But,  for  myself,  during  the  whole  of  my  Custom- 
House  experience,  moonlight  and  sunshine,  and  the  glow 
of  firelight,  were  just  alike  in  my  regard ;  and  neither 
of  them  was  of  one  whit  more  avail  than  the  twinkle  of 
a  tallow-candle.  An  entire  class  of  susceptibilities,  and 
a  gift  connected  with  them,  —  of  no  great  richness  or 
value,  but  the  best  I  had,  —  was  gone  from  me. 

It  is  my  belief,  however,  that,  had  I  attempted  a  differ- 


THE  CUSTOM-HOUSE.  47 

ent  order  of  composition,  my  faculties  would  not  have 
been  found  so  pointless  and  inefficacious.  I  might,  for 
instance,  have  contented  myself  with  writing  out  the 
narratives  of  a  veteran  shipmaster,  one  of  the  Inspectors, 
whom  I  should  be  most  ungrateful  not  to  mention,  since 
scarcely  a  day  passed  that  he  did  not  stir  me  to  laughter 
and  admiration  by  his  marvellous  gifts  as  a  story-teller. 
Could  I  have  preserved  the  picturesque  force  of  his  style, 
and  the  humorous  coloring  which  nature  taught  him 
how  to  throw  over  his  descriptions,  the  result,  I  honestly 
believe,  would  have  been  something  new  in  literature. 
Or  I  might  readily  have  found  a  more  serious  task.  It 
was  a  folly,  with  the  materiality  of  this  daily  life  press 
ing  so  intrusively  upon  me,  to  attempt  to  fling  myself 
back  into  another  age  ;  or  to  insist  on  creating  the  sem 
blance  of  a  world  out  of  airy  matter,  when,  at  every 
moment,  the  impalpable  beauty  of  my  soap-bubble  was 
broken  by  the  rude  contact  of  some  actual  circumstance. 
The  wiser  effort  would  have  been,  to  diffuse  thought 
and  imagination  through  the  opaque  substance  of  to-day, 
and  thus  to  make  it  a  bright  transparency ;  to  spirit 
ualize  the  burden  that  began  to  weigh  so  heavily;  to 
seek,  resolutely,  the  true  and  indestructible  value  that 
lay  hidden  in  the  petty  and  wearisome  incidents,  and 
ordinary  characters,  with  which  I  was  now  conversant. 
The  fault  was  mine.  The  page  of  life  that  was  spread 
out  before  me  seemed  dull  and  commonplace,  only  be 
cause  I  had  not  fathomed  its  deeper  import.  A  better 
book  than  I  shall  ever  write  was  there ;  leaf  after  leaf 
presenting  itself  to  me,  just  as  it  was  written  out  by  the 
reality  of  the  flitting  hour,  and  vanishing  as  fast  as 
written,  only  because  my  brain  wanted  the  insight  and 
my  hand  the  cunning  to  transcribe  it.  At  some  future 
day,  it  may  be,  I  shall  remember  a  few  scattered  frag- 


48  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

ments  and  broken  paragraphs,  and  write  them  down,  and 
find  the  letters  turn  to  gold  upon  the  page. 

These  perceptions  have  come  too  late.  At  the  in 
stant,  I  was  only  conscious  that  what  would  have  been 
a  pleasure  once  was  now  a  hopeless  toil.  There  was 
no  occasion  to  make  much  moan  about  this  state  of 
affairs.  I  had  ceased  to  be  a  writer  of  tolerably  poor 
tales  and  essays,  and  had  become  a  tolerably  good  Sur 
veyor  of  the  Customs.  That  was  all.  But,  neverthe 
less,  it  is  anything  but  agreeable  to  be  haunted  by  a 
suspicion  that  one's  intellect  is  dwindling  away;  or 
exhaling,  without  your  consciousness,  like  ether  out  of 
a  phial ;  so  that,  at  every  glance,  you  find  a  smaller 
and  less  volatile  residuum.  Of  the  fact,  there  could  be 
no  doubt ;  and,  examining  myself  and  others,  I  was  led 
to  conclusions,  in  reference  to  the  effect  of  public  office 
on  the  character,  not  very  favorable  to  the  mode  of  life 
in  question.  In  some  other  form,  perhaps,  I  may  here 
after  develop  these  effects.  Suffice  it  here  to  say,  that 
a  Custom-House  officer,  of  long  continuance,  can  hardly 
be  a  very  praiseworthy  or  respectable  personage,  for 
many  reasons ;  one  of  them,  the  tenure  by  which  he 
holds  his  situation,  and  another,  the  very  nature  of  his 
business,  which  —  though,  I  trust,  an  honest  one  —  is  of 
such  a  sort  that  he  does  not  share  in  the  united  effort  of 
mankind. 

An  effect  —  which  I  believe  to  be  observable,  more  or 
less,  in  every  individual  who  has  occupied  the  position 
—  is,  that,  while  he  leans  on  the  mighty  arm  of  the 
Republic,  his  own  proper  strength  departs  from  him. 
He  loses,  in  an  extent  proportioned  to  the  weakness  or 
force  of  his  original  nature,  the  capability  of  self-support. 
If  he  possess  an  unusual  share  of  native  energy,  or  the 
enervating  magic  of  place  do  not  operate  too  long  upon 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  49 

him,  his  forfeited  powers  may  be  redeemable.  The 
ejected  officer  —  fortunate  in  the  unkindly  shove  that 
sends  him  forth  betimes,  to  struggle  amid  a  struggling 
world  —  may  return  to  himself,  and  become  all  that  he 
has  ever  been.  But  this  seldom  happens.  He  usually 
keeps  his  ground  just  long  enough  for  his  own  ruin,  and 
is  then  thrust  out,  with  sinews  all  unstrung,  to  totter 
along  the  difficult  footpath  of  life  as  he  best  may. 
Conscious  of  his  own  infirmity,  —  that  his  tempered 
steel  and  elasticity  are  lost,  — he  forever  afterwards 
looks  wistfully  about  him  in  quest  of  support  external  to 
himself.  His  pervading  and  continual  hope  —  a  hallu 
cination  which,  in  the  face  of  all  discouragement,  and 
making  light  of  impossibilities,  haunts  him  while  he 
lives,  and,  I  fancy,  like  the  convulsive  throes  of  the 
cholera,  torments  him  for  a  brief  space  after  death  —  is, 
that  finally,  and  in  no  long  time,  by  some  happy  coin 
cidence  of  circumstances,  he  shall  be  restored  to  office. 
This  faith,  more  than  anything  else,  steals  the  pith  and 
availability  out  of  whatever  enterprise  he  may  dream  of 
undertaking.  Why  should  he  toil  and  moil,  and  be  at 
so  much  trouble  to  pick  himself  up  out  of  the  mud, 
when,  in  a  little  while  hence,  the  strong  arm  of  his 
Uncle  will  raise  and  support  him  ?  Why  should  he 
work  for  his  living  here,  or  go  to  dig  gold  in  California, 
when  he  is  so  soon  to  be  made  happy,  at  monthly  inter 
vals,  with  a  little  pile  of  glittering  coin  out  of  his  Uncle's 
pocket?  It  is  sadly  curious  to  observe  how  slight  a 
taste  of  office  suffices  to  infect  a  poor  fellow  with  this 
singular  disease.  Uncle  Sam's  gold  —  meaning  no  dis 
respect  to  the  worthy  old  gentleman  —  has,  in  this 
respect,  a  quality  of  enchantment  like  that  of  the  Devil's 
wages.  Whoever  touches  it  should  look  well  to  him 
self,  or  he  may  find  the  bargain  to  go  hard  against  him, 

3  D 


50  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

involving,  if  not  his  soul,  yet  many  of  its  better  attri 
butes  ;  its  sturdy  force,  its  courage  and  constancy,  its 
truth,  its  self-reliance,  and  all  that  gives  the  emphasis  to 
manly  character. 

Here  was  a  fine  prospect  in  the  distance  !  Not  that 
the  Surveyor  brought  the  lesson  home  to  himself,  or 
admitted  that  he  could  be  so  utterly  undone,  either  by 
continuance  in  office,  or  ejectment.  Yet  my  reflections 
were  not  the  most  comfortable.  I  began  to  grow  mel 
ancholy  and  restless ;  continually  prying  into  my  mind, 
to  discover  which  of  its  poor  properties  were  gone,  and 
what  degree  of  detriment  had  already  accrued  to  the  re 
mainder.  I  endeavored  to  calculate  how  much  longer  I 
could  stay  in  the  Custom-House,  and  yet  go  forth  a  man. 
To  confess  the  truth,  it  was  my  greatest  apprehension,  — 
as  it  would  never  be  a  measure  of  policy  to  turn  out 
so  quiet  an  individual  as  myself,  and  it  being  hardly  in 
the  nature  of  a  public  officer  to  resign,  —  it  was  my 
chief  trouble,  therefore,  that  I  was  likely  to  grow  gray 
and  decrepit  in  the  Surveyorship,  and  become  much 
such  another  animal  as  the  old  Inspector.  Might  it  not, 
in  the  tedious  lapse  of  official  life  that  lay  before  me, 
finally  be  with  me  as  it  was  with  this  venerable  friend,  — 
to  make  the  dinner-hour  the  nucleus  of  the  day,  and  to 
spend  the  rest  of  it,  as  an  old  dog  spends  it,  asleep  in  the 
sunshine  or  in  the  shade  ?  A  dreary  look -forward  this, 
for  a  man  who  felt  it  to  be  the  best  definition  of  happiness 
to  live  throughout  the  whole  range  of  his  faculties  and 
sensibilities!  But,  all  this  while,  I  was  giving  myself 
very  unnecessary  alarm.  Providence  had  meditated  better 
things  for  me  than  I  could  possibly  imagine  for  myself. 

A  remarkable  event  of  the  third  year  of  my  Surveyor- 
ship  —  to  adopt  the  tone  of  "  P.  P."  —  was  the  election 
of  General  Taylor  to  the  Presidency.  It  is  essential,  in 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  51 

order  to  a  complete  estimate  of  the  advantages  of  official 
life,  to  view  the  incumbent  at  the  incoming  of  a  hostile 
administration.  His  position  is  then  one  of  the  most 
singularly  irksome,  and,  in  every  contingency,  disagree 
able,  that  a  wretched  mortal  can  possibly  occupy  ;  with 
seldom  an  alternative  of  good,  on  either  hand,  although 
what  presents  itself  to  him  as  the  worst  event  may  very 
probably  be  the  best.  But  it  is  a  strange  experience,  to 
a  man  of  pride  and  sensibility,  to  know  that  his  interests 
are  within  the  control  of  individuals  who  neither  love  nor 
understand  him,  and  by  whom,  since  one  or  the  other 
must  needs  happen,  he  would  rather  be  injured  than 
obliged.  Strange,  too,  for  one  who  has  kept  his  calm 
ness  throughout  the  contest,  to  observe  the  bloodthirsti- 
ness  that  is  developed  in  the  hour  of  triumph,  and  to  be 
conscious  that  he  is  himself  among  its  objects !  There 
are  few  uglier -traits  of  human  nature  than  this  tendency 
—  which  I  now  witnessed  in  men  no  worse  than  their 
neighbors  —  to  grow  cruel,  merely  because  they  pos 
sessed  the  power  of  inflicting  harm.  If  the  guillotine, 
as  applied  to  office-holders,  were  a  literal  fact  instead 
of  one  of  the  most  apt  of  metaphors,  it  is  my  sincere 
belief  that  the  active  members  of  the  victorious  party 
were  sufficiently  excited  to  have  chopped  off  all  our 
heads,  and  have  thanked  Heaven  for  the  opportunity ! 
It  appears  to  me  —  who  have  been  a  calm  and  curious 
observer,  as  well  in  victory  as  defeat  —  that  this  fierce 
and  bitter  spirit  of  malice  and  revenge  has  never  distin 
guished  the  many  triumphs  of  my  own  party  as  it  now  did 
that  of  the  Whigs.  The  Democrats  take  the  offices,  as 
a  general  rule,  because  they  need  them,  and  because  the 
practice  of  many  years  has  made  it  the  law  of  political 
warfare,  which,  unless  a  different  system  be  proclaimed, 
it  were  weakness  and  cowardice  to  murmur  at.  But  the 


52  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

long  habit  of  victory  has  made  them  generous.  They 
know  how  to  spare,  when  they  see  occasion ;  and  when 
they  strike,  the  axe  may  be  sharp,  indeed,  but  its  edge  is 
seldom  poisoned  with  ill-will;  nor  is  it  their  custom 
ignominiously  to  kick  the  head  which  they  have  just 
struck  off. 

In  short,  unpleasant  as  was  my  predicament,  at  best, 
I  saw  much  reason  to  congratulate  myself  that  I  was  on 
the  losing  side,  rather  than  the  triumphant  one.  If, 
heretofore,  I  had  been  none  of  the  warmest  of  partisans, 
I  began  now,  at  this  season  of  peril  and  adversity,  to  be 
pretty  acutely  sensible  with  which  party  my  predilections 
lay ;  nor  was  it  without  something  like  regret  and  shame, 
that,  according  to  a  reasonable  calculation  of  chances,  I 
saw  my  own  prospect  of  retaining  office  to  be  better  than 
those  of  my  Democratic  brethren.  But  who  can  see  an 
inch  into  futurity,  beyond  his  nose  ?  My  own  head  was 
the  first  that  fell ! 

The  moment  when  a  man's  head  drops  off  is  seldom  or 
never,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  precisely  the  most  agreea 
ble  of  his  life.  Nevertheless,  like  the  greater  part  of  our 
misfortunes,  even  so  serious  a  contingency  brings  its 
remedy  and  consolation  with  it,  if  the  sufferer  will  but 
make  the  best,  rather  than  the  worst,  of  the  accident 
which  has  befallen  him.  In  my  particular  case,  the  con 
solatory  topics  were  close  at  hand,  and,  indeed,  had  sug 
gested  themselves  to  my  meditations  a  considerable  time 
before  it  was  requisite  to  use  them.  In  view  of  my  pre 
vious  wearin'ess  of  office,  and  vague  thoughts  of  resigna 
tion,  my  fortune  somewhat  resembled  that  of  a  person 
who  should  entertain  an  idea  of  committing  suicide, 
and,  although  beyond  his  hopes,  meet  with  the  good 
hap  to  be  murdered.  In  the  Custom-House,  as  before  in 
the  Old  Manse,  I  had  spent  three  years ;  a  term  long 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  53 

enough  to  rest  a  weary  brain ;  long  enough  to  break  off 
old  intellectual  habits,  and  make  room  for  new  ones; 
long  enough,  and  too  long,  to  have  lived  in  an  unnatural 
state,  doing  what  was  really  of  no  advantage  nor  delight 
to  any  human  being,  and  withholding  myself  from  toil 
that  would,  at  least,  have  stilled  an  unquiet  impulse  in 
me.  Then,  moreover,  as  regarded  his  unceremonious 
ejectment,  the  late  Surveyor  was  not  altogether  ill-pleased 
to  be  recognized  by  the  Whigs  as  an  enemy ;  since  his 
inactivity  in  political  affairs  —  his  tendency  to  roam,  at 
will,  in  that  broad  and  quiet  field  where  all  mankind 
may  meet,  rather  than  confine  himself  to  those  narrow 
paths  where  brethren  of  the  same  household  must  diverge 
from  one  another  —  had  sometimes  made  it  questionable 
with  his  brother  Democrats  whether  he  was  a  friend. 
Now,  after  he  had  won  the  crown  of  martyrdom  (though 
with  no  longer  a  head  to  wear  it  on),  the  point  might  be 
looked  upon  as  settled.  Finally,  little  heroic  as  he  was, 
it  seemed  more  decorous  to  be  overthrown  in  the  down 
fall  of  the  party  with  which  he  had  been  content  to  stand, 
than  to  remain  a  forlorn  survivor,  when  so  many  worthier 
men  were  falling ;  and,  at  last,  after  subsisting  for  four 
years  on  the  mercy  of  a  hostile  administration,  to  be 
compelled  then  to  define  his  position  anew,  and  claim  the 
yet  more  humiliating  mercy  of  a  friendly  one. 

Meanwhile  the  press  had  taken  up  my  affair,  and  kept 
me,  for  a  week  or  two,  careering  through  the  public 
prints,  in  my  decapitated  state,  like  Irving's  Headless 
Horseman ;  ghastly  and  grim,  and  longing  to  be  buried, 
as  a  politically  dead  man  ought.  So  much  for  my  figura 
tive  self.  The  real  human  being,  all  this  time,  with  his 
head  safely  on  his  shoulders,  had  brought  himself  to  the 
comfortable  conclusion  that  everything  was  for  the  best ; 
and,  making  an  investment  in  ink,  paper,  and  steel-pens, 


54  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

had  opened  his  long-disused  writing-desk,  and  was  again 
a  literary  man. 

Now  it  was  that  the  lucubrations  of  my  ancient  pred 
ecessor,  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  came  into  play.  Rusty 
through  long  idleness,  some  little  space  was  requisite 
before  my  intellectual  machinery  could  be  brought  to 
work  upon  the  tale,  with  an  effect  in  any  degree  satis 
factory.  Even  yet,  though  my  thoughts  were  ultimately 
much  absorbed  in  the  task,  it  wears,  to  my  eye,  a  stern 
and  sombre  aspect ;  too  much  ungladdened  by  genial 
sunshine ;  too  little  relieved  by  the  tender  and  familiar 
influences  which  soften  almost  every  scene  of  nature  and 
real  life,  and,  undoubtedly,  should  soften  every  picture 
of  them.  This  uncaptivating  effect  is  perhaps  due  to  the 
period  of  hardly  accomplished  revolution,  and  still  seeth 
ing  turmoil,  in  which  the  story  shaped  itself.  It  is  no 
indication,  however,  of  a  lack  of  cheerfulness  in  the 
writer's  mind  ;  for  he  was  happier,  while  straying  through 
the  gloom  of  these  sunless  fantasies,  than  at  any  time 
since  he  had  quitted  the  Old  Manse.  Some  of  the 
briefer  articles,  which  contribute  to  make  up  the  vol 
ume,  have  likewise  been  written  since  my  involuntary 
withdrawal  from  the  toils  and  honors  of  public  life,  and 
the  remainder  are  gleaned  from  annuals  and  magazines 
of  such  antique  date  that  they  have  gone  round  the  cir 
cle,  and  come  back  to  novelty  again.*  Keeping  up  the 
metaphor  of  the  political  guillotine,  the  whole  may  be 
considered  as  the  POSTHUMOUS  PAPERS  OF  A  DECAPI 
TATED  SURVEYOR  ;  and  the  sketch  which  I  am  now 
bringing  to  a  close,  if  too  autobiographical  for  a  modest 

*  At  the  time  of  writing  this  article,  the  author  intended  to 
publish,  along  with  "  The  Scarlet  Letter,"  several  shorter  tales 
and  sketches.  These  it  has  been  thought  advisable  to  defer. 


THE    CUSTOM-HOUSE.  55 

person  to  publish  in  liis  lifetime,  will  readily  be  excused 
in  a  gentleman  who  writes  from  beyond  the  grave.  Peace 
be  with  all  the  world !  My  blessing  on  my  friends  !  My 
forgiveness  to  my  enemies  !  For  I  am  in  the  realm  of 
quiet ! 

The  life  of  the  Custom-House  lies  like  a  dream  behind 
me.  The  old  Inspector,  —  who,  by  the  by,  I  regret  to 
say,  was  overthrown  and  killed  by  a  horse,  some  time 
ago ;  else  he  would  certainly  have  lived  forever,  —  he, 
and  all  those  other  venerable  personages  who  sat  with 
him  at  the  receipt  of  custom,  are  but  shadows  in  my 
view;  white-headed  and  wrinkled  images,  which  my 
fancy  used  to  sport  with,  and  has  now  flung  aside 
forever.  The  merchants,  —  Pingree,  Phillips,  Shepard, 
Upton,  Kimball,  Bertram,  Hunt,  —  these,  and  many 
other  names,  which  had  such  a  classic  familiarity  for  my 
ear  six  months  ago,  —  these  men  of  traffic,  who  seemed 
to  occupy  so  important  a  position  in  the  world,  —  how 
little  time  has  it  required  to  disconnect  me  from  them  all, 
not  merely  in  act,  but  recollection  !  It  is  with  an  effort 
that  I  recall  the  figures  and  appellations  of  these  few. 
Soon,  likewise,  my  old  native  town  will  loom  upon  me 
through  the  haze  of  memory,  a  mist  brooding  over  and 
around  it ;  as  if  it  were  no  portion  of  the  real  earth,  but 
an  overgrown  village  in  cloud-land,  with  only  imaginary 
inhabitants  to  people  its  wooden  houses,  and  walk  its 
homely  lanes,  and  the  unpicturesque  prolixity  of  its 
main  street.  Henceforth  it  ceases  to  be  a  reality  of  my 
life.  I  am  a  citizen  of  somewhere  else.  My  good  towns 
people  ^ill  not  much  regret  me;  for  —  though  it  has 
been  as  dear  an  object  as  any,  in  my  literary  efforts,  to 
be  of  some  importance  in  their  eyes,  and  to  win  myself 
a  pleasant  memory  in  this  abode  and  burial-place  of  so 
many  of  my  forefathers  —  there  has  never  been,  for  me, 


56 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 


the  genial  atmosphere  which  a  literary  man  requires,  in 
order  to  ripen  the  best  harvest  of  his  mind.  I  shall  do 
better  amongst  other  faces ;  and  these  familiar  ones,  it 
need  hardly  be  said,  will  do  just  as  well  without  me. 
It  may  be,  however,  —  0,  transporting  and  triumphant 
thought !  —  that  the  great-grandchildren  of  the  present 
race  may  sometimes  think  kindly  of  the  scribbler  of  by 
gone  days,  when  the  antiquary  of  days  to  come,  among 
the  sites  memorable  in  the  town's  history,  shall  point 
wt  the  locality  of  THE  TOWN  PUMP  ! 


THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 


THE  PRISON-DOOR. 

THRONG  of  bearded  men,  in  sad-colored  gap- 
ments,  and  gray,  steeple-crowned  hats,  inter 
mixed  with  women,  some  wearing  hoods  and 
others  bareheaded,  was  assembled  in  front  of  a  wooden 
edifice,  the  door  of  which  was  heavily  timbered  with  oak, 
and  studded  with  iron  spikes. 

The  founders  of  a  new  colony,  whatever  Utopia  of 
human  virtue  and  happiness  they  might  originally  pro 
ject,  have  invariably  recognized  it  among  their  earliest 
practical  necessities  to  allot  a  portion  of  the  virgin  soil 
as  a  cemetery,  and  another  portion  as  the  site  of  a  prison. 
In  accordance  with  this  rule,  it  may  safely  be  assumed 
!  hat  the  forefathers  of  Boston  had  built  the  first  prison- 
house  someAvhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Cornhill,  almost  as 
seasonably  as  they  marked  out  the  first  burial-ground, 
on  Isaac  Johnson's  lot,  and  round  about  his  grave,  which 
subsequently  became  the  nucleus  of  all  the  congregated 
sepulchres  in  the  old  churchyard  of  King's  ChapeL 
Certain  it  is,  that,  some  fifteen,  or  twenty  years  after  the 
settlement  of  the  town,  the  wooJen  jail  was  already 
3* 


58  THE    SCARLET    LETTEE. 

marked  with  weather-stains  and  other  indications  of  ^  "* 
which  gave  a  yet  darker  aspect  to  its  beetle-browed  \  ";° 
gloomy  front.  The  rust  on  the  ponderous  iron-work  ft 
its  oaken  door  looked  more  antique  than  anything  else  in 
the  New  World.  Like  all  that  pertains  to  crime,  it 
seemed  never  to  have  known  a  youthful  era.  Before 
tkis  ugly  edifice,  and  between  it  and  the  wheel-track  of 
the  street,  was  a  grass-plot,  much  overgrown  with  bur 
dock,  pigweed,  apple-peru,  and  such  unsightly  vegeta 
tion,  which  evidently  found  something  congenial  in  the 
soil  that  had  so  early  borne  the  black  flower  of  civilized 
society,  a  prison.  But,  on  one  side  of  the  portal,  and 
rooted  almost  at  the  threshold,  was  a  wild  rose-bush, 
covered,  in  this  month  of  June,  with  its  delicate  gems, 
which  might  be  imagined  to  offer  their  fragrance  and 
fragile  beauty  to  the  prisoner  as  he  went  in,  and  to  the 
condemned  criminal  as  he  came  forth  to  his  doom,  in 
token  that  the  deep  heart  of  Nature  could  pity  and  be 
kind  to  him. 

This  rose-bush,  by  a  strange  chance,  has  been  kept 
alive  in  history  ;  but  whether  it  had  merely  survived  out 
of  the  stern  old  wilderness,  so  long  after  the  fall  of  the 
gigantic  pines  and  oaks  that  originally  overshadowed 
it,  —  or  whether,  as  there  is  fair  authority  for  believing, 
it  had  sprung  up  under  the  footsteps  of  the  sainted  Ann 
Hutchinson,  as  she  entered  the  prison-door,  —  we  shall 
not  take  upon  us  to  determine.  Finding  it  so  directly 
on  the  threshold  of  our  narrative,  which  is  now  about  to 
issue  from  that  inauspicious  portal,  we  could  hardly  do 
otherwise  than  pluck  one  of  its  flowers,  and  present  it  to 
the  reader.  It  may  serve,  let  us  hope,  to  symbolize 
some  sweet  moral  blossom,  that  may  be  found  along  the 
track,  or  relieve  the  darkening  close  of  a  tale  of  human 
frailty  and  sorrow. 


II. 


THE   MARKET-PLACE. 

|HE  grass-plot  before  the  jail,  in  Prison  Lane,  on 
a  certain  summer  morning,  not  less  than  two 
centuries  ago,  was  occupied  by  a  pretty  large 
number  of  the  inhabitants  of  Boston ;  all  with  their 
eyes  intently  fastened  on  the  iron-clamped  oaken  door. 
Amongst  any  other  population,  or  at  a  later  period  in 
the  history  of  New  England,  the  grim  rigidity  that  pet 
rified  the  bearded  physiognomies  of  these  good  people 
would  have  augured  some  awful  business  in  hand.  It 
could  have  betokened  nothing  short  of  the  anticipated 
execution  of  some  noted  culprit,  on  whom  the  sentence 
of  a  legal  tribunal  had  but  confirmed  the  verdict  of  pub 
lic  sentiment.  But,  in  that  early  severity  of  the  Puritan 
character,  an  inference  of  this  kind  could  not  so  indu 
bitably  be  drawn.  It  might  be  that  a  sluggish  bond 
servant,  or  an  undutiful  child,  whom  his  parents  had 
given  over  to  the  civil  authority,  was  to  be  corrected  at 
the  whipping-post.  It  might  be,  that  an  Antinomiau, 
a  Quaker,  or  other  heterodox  religionist  was  to  be 
scourged  out  of  the  town,  or  an  idle  and  vagrant  Indian, 
whom  the  white  man's  fire-water  had  made  riotous  about 
the  streets,  was  to  be  driven  with  stripes  into  the  shadow 


60  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

of  the  forest.  It  might  be,  too,  that  a  witch,  like  old 
Mistress  Hibbins,  the  bitter-tempered  widow  of  the 
magistrate,  was  to  die  upon  the  gallows.  In  either  case, 
there  was  very  much  the  same  solemnity  of  demeanor  on 
the  part  of  the  spectators ;  as  befitted  a  people  amongst 
whom  religion  and  law  were  almost  identical,  and  in 
whose  character  both  were  so  thoroughly  interfused,  that 
the  mildest  and  the  severest  acts  of  public  discipline  were 
alike  made  venerable  and  awful.  Meagre,  indeed,  and 
cold  was  the  sympathy  that  a  transgressor  might  look 
for,  from  such  bystanders,  at  the -scaffold.  On  the  other 
hand,  a  penalty,  which,  in  our  days,  would  infer  a  degree 
of  mocking  infamy  and  ridicule,  might  then  be  invested 
with  almost  as  stern  a  dignity  as  the  punishment  of 
death  itself. 

It  was  a  circumstance  to  be  noted,  on  the  summer 
morning  when  our  story  begins  its  course,  that  the 
women,  of  whom  there  were  several  in  the  crowd, 
appeared  to  take  a  peculiar  interest  in  whatever  penal 
infliction  might  be  expected  to  ensue.  The  age  had 
not  so  much  refinement,  that  any  sense  of  impropriety 
restrained  the  wearers  of  petticoat  and  farthingale  from 
stepping  forth  into  the  public  ways,  and  wedging  their 
not  unsubstantial  persons,  if  occasion  were,  into  the 
throng  nearest  to  the  scaffold  at  an  execution.  Morally, 
as  well  as  materially,  there  was  a  coarser  fibre  in  those 
wives  and  maidens  of  old  English  birth  and  breeding, 
than  in  their  fair  descendants,  separated  from  them  by 
a  series  of  six  or  seven  generations ;  for,  throughout 
that  chain  of  ancestry,  every  successive  mother  has 
transmitted  to  her  child  a  fainter  bloom,  a  more  delicate 
and  briefer  beauty,  and  a  slighter  physical  frame,  if  not 
a  character  of  less  force  and  solidity,  than  her  own, 
The  women  who  were  now  standing  about  the  prison- 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  61 

door  stood  within  less  than  half  a  century  of  the  period 
when  the  man-like  Elizabeth  had  been  the  not  alto 
gether  unsuitable  representative  of  the  sex.  They  were 
her  countrywomen ;  and  the  beef  and  ale  of  their  native 
land,  with  a  moral  diet  not  a  whit  more  refined,  entered 
largely  into  their  composition.  The  bright  morning 
sun,  therefore,  shone  on  broad  shoulders  and  well- 
developed  busts,  and  on  round  and  ruddy  cheeks,  that 
had  ripened  in  the  far-off  island,  and  had  hardly  yet 
grown  paler  or  thinner  in  the  atmosphere  of  New 
England.  There  was,  moreover,  a  boldness  and  rotund 
ity  of  speech  among  these  matrons,  as  most  of  them 
seemed  to  be,  that  would  startle  us  at  the  present  day, 
whether  in  respect  to  its  purport  or  its  volume  of  tone. 

"  Goodwives,"  said  a  hard-featured  dame  of  fifty,  "  I  '11 
tell  ye  a  piece  of  my  mind.  It  would  be  greatly  for 
the  public  behoof,  if  we  women,  being  of  mature  age 
and  church-members  in  good  repute,  should  have  the 
handling  of  such  malefactresses  as  this  Hester  Prynne. 
What  think  ye,  gossips?  If  the  hussy  stood  up  for 
judgment  before  us  five,  that  are  now  here  in  a  knot 
together,  would  she  come  off  with  such  a  sentence  as 
the  worshipful  magistrates  have  awarded  ?  Marry,  I 
trow  not ! " 

"People  say/'  said  another,  "that  the  Reverend 
Master  Dimmesdale,  her  godly  pastor,  takes  it  very 
grievously  to  heart  that  such  a  scandal  should  have 
come  upon  his  congregation." 

"The  magistrates  are  God-fearing  gentlemen,  but 
merciful  overmuch,  —  that  is  a  truth,"  added  a  third 
autumnal  matron.  "  At  the  very  least,  they  should 
have  put  the  brand  of  a  hot  iron  on  Hester  Prynne's 
forehead.  Madam  Hester  would  have  winced  at  that,  I 
warrant  me.  But  she,  —  the  naughty  baggage,  —  little 


62  THE    SCAB-LET    LETTER. 

will  she  care  what  they  put  upon  the  bodice  of  her  gown ! 
Why,  look  you,  she  may  cover  it  with  a  brooch,  or  such 
like  heathenish  adornment,  and  so  walk  the  streets  as 
brave  as  ever !  " 

"  Ah,  but,"  interposed,  more  softly,  a  young  wife,  hold 
ing  a  child  by  the  hand,  "  let  her  cover  the  mark  as  she 
will,  the  pang  of  it  will  be  always  in  her  heart." 

"What  do  we  talk  of  marks  and  brands,  whether  on 
the  bodice  of  her  gown,  or  the  flesh  of  her  forehead  ?  " 
cried  another  female,  the  ugliest  as  well  as  the  most  piti 
less  of  these  self-constituted  judges.  "£his  woman  has 
brought  shame  upon  us  all,  and  ought  to  die.  Is  there 
not  law  for  it  ?  Truly,  there  is,  both  in  the  Scripture  and 
the  statute-book.  Then  let  the  magistrates,  who  have 
made  it  of  no  effect,  thank  themselves  if  their  own  wives 
and  daughters  go  astray  !  " 

"Mercy  on  us,  goodwife,"  exclaimed  a  man  in  the 
crowd,  "  is  there  no  virtue  in  woman,  save  what  springs 
from  a  wholesome  fear  of  the  gallows?  That  is  the 
hardest  word  yet !  Hush,  now,  gossips  !  for  the  lock  is 
turning  in  the  prison-door,  and  here  comes  Mistress 
Prynne  herself." 

The  door  of  the  jail  being  flung  open  from  within, 
there  appeared,  in  the  first  place,  like  a  black  shadow 
emerging  into  sunshine,  the  grim  and  grisly  presence 
of  the  town-beadle,  with  a  sword  by  his  side,  and  his 
staff  of  office  in  his  hand.  This  personage  prefigured 
and  represented  in  his  aspect  the  whole  dismal  severity 
of  the  Puritanic  code  of  law,  which  it  was  his  business 
to  administer  in  its  final  and  closest  application  to  the 
offender.  Stretching  forth  the  official  staff  in  his  left 
hand,  he  laid  his  right  upon  the  shoulder  of  a  young 
woman,  whom  he  thus  drew  forward;  until,  on  the 
threshold  of  the  prison-door,  she  repelled  him,  by  an 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  63 

action  marked  with  natural  dignity  and  force  of  charac 
ter,  and  stepped  into  the  open  air,  as  if  by  her  own  free 
will.  She  bore  in"  her  arms  a  child,  a  baby  of  some 
three  months  old,  who  winked  and  turned  aside  its  little 
face  from  the  too  vivid  light  of  day ;  because  its  exist 
ence,  heretofore,  had  brought  it  acquainted  only  with  the 
gray  twilight  of  a  dungeon,  or  other  darksome  apartment 
of  the  prison. 

When  the  young  woman  —  the  mother  of  this  child  — 
stood  fully  revealed  before  the  crowd,  it  seemed  to  be 
her  first  impulse  to  clasp  the  infant  closely  to  her  bosom ; 
not  so  much  by  an  impulse  of  motherly  affection,  as  that 
she  might  thereby  conceal  a  certain  token,  which  was 
wrought  or  fastened  into  her  dress.  In  a  moment,  how 
ever,  wisely  judging  that  one  token  of  her  shame  would 
but  poorly  serve  to  hide  another,  she  took  the  baby  on 
her  arm,  and,  with  a  burning  blush,  and  yet  a  haughty 
smile,  and  a  glance  that  would  not  be  abashed,  looked 
around  at  her  townspeople  and  neighbors.  On  the  breast 
of  her  gown,  in  fine  red  cloth,  surrounded  with  an  elab 
orate  embroidery  and  fantastic  flourishes  of  gold-thread, 
appeared  the  letter  A.  -  It  was  so  artistically  done,  and 
with  so  much  fertility  and  gorgeous  luxuriance  of  fancy, 
that  it  had  all  the  effect  of  a  last  and  fitting  decoration 
to  the  apparel  which  she  wore ;  and  which  was  of  a 
splendor  in  accordance  with  the  taste  of  the  age,  but 
greatly  beyond  what  was  allowed  by  the  sumptuary  regu 
lations  of  the  colony. 

The  young  woman  was  tall,  with  a  figure  of  perfect 
elegance  on  a  large  scale.  She  had  dark  and  abundant 
hair,  so  glossy  that  it  threw  off  the  sunshine  with  a 
gleam,  and  a  face  which,  besides  being  beautiful  from 
regularity  of  feature  and  richness  of  complexion,  had 
the  impressiveness  belonging  to  a  marked  brow  and 


64  THE    SCARLET    LETTEE. 

deep  black  eyes.  She  was  lady-like,  too,  after  the  man 
ner  of  the  feminine  gentility  of  those  days;  character 
ized  by  a  certain  state  and  dignity,  rather  than  by  the 
delicate,  evanescent,  and  indescribable  grace,  which  is 
now  recognized  as  its  indication.  And  never  had  Hester 
Prynne  appeared  more  lady -like,  in  the  antique  interpre 
tation  of  the  term,  than  as  she  issued  from  the  prison. 
Those  who  had  before  known  her,  and  had  expected  to 
behold  her  dimmed  and  obscured  by  a  disastrous  cloud, 
were  astonished,  and  even  startled,  to  perceive  how  her 
beauty  shone  out,  and  made  a  halo  of  the  misfortune  and 
ignominy  in  which  she  was  enveloped.  It  may  be  true, 
that,  to  a  sensitive  observer,  there  was  something  exqui 
sitely  painful  in  it.  Her  attire,  which,  indeed,  she  had 
wrought  for  the  occasion,  in  prison,  and  had  modelled 
much  after  her  own  fancy,  seemed  to  express  the  attitude 
of  her  spirit,  the  desperate  recklessness  of  her  mood,  by 
its  wild  and  picturesque  peculiarity.  But  the  point  which 
drew  all  eyes,  and,  as  it  were,  transfigured  the  wearer, 
—  so  that  both  men  and  women,  who  had  been  familiarly 
acquainted  with  Hester  Prynne,  were  now  impressed  as 
if  they  beheld  her  for  the  first  time,  —  was  that  SCARLET 
LETTER,  so  fantastically  embroidered  and  illuminated 
upon  her  bosom.  It  had  the  effect  of  a  spell,  taking  her 
out  of  the  ordinary  relations  with  humanity,  and  enclos 
ing  her  in  a  sphere  by  herself. 

"  She  hath  good  skill  at  her  needle,  that 's  certain," 
remarked  one  of  her  female  spectators  ;  "  but  did  ever  a 
woman,  before  this  brazen  huzzy,  contrive  such  a  way 
of  showing  it !  Why,  gossips,  what  is  it  but  to  laugh  in 
the  faces  of  our  godly  magistrates,  and  make  a  pride 
out  of  what  they,  worthy  gentlemen,  meant  for  a  punish 
ment?" 

"  It  were  well,"  muttered  the  most  iron-visaged  of  the 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  00 

old  dames,  "  if  we  stripped  Madam  Hester's  rich  gown 
off  her  dainty  shoulders ;  and  as  for  the  red  letter,  which 
she  hath  stitched  so  curiously,  1 311  bestow  a  rag  of  mine 
own  rheumatic  flannel,  to  make  a  fitter  one  !  " 

"  0,  peace,  neighbors,  peace  !  "  whispered  their  young 
est  companion ;  "  do  not  let  her  hear  you !  Not  a  stitch 
in  that  embroidered  letter,  but  she  has  felt  it  in  hei 
heart." 

The  grim  beadle  now  made  a  gesture  with  his  staff. 

"Make  way,  good  people,  make  way,  in  the  King's 
name  !  "  cried  he.  "  Open  a  passage ;  and,  I  promise 
ye,  Mistress  Prynne  shall  be  set  where  man,  woman, 
and  child  may  have  a  fair  sight  of  her  brave  apparel} 
from  this  time  till  an  hour  past  meridian.  A  blessing  on 
the  righteous  Colony  of  the  Massachusetts,  where  in 
iquity  is  dragged  out  into  the  sunshine  !  Come  along, 
Madam  Hester,  and  show  your  scarlet  letter  in  the 
market-place !  " 

A  lane  was  forthwith  opened  through  the  crowd  of 
spectators.  Preceded  by  the  beadle,  and  attended  by 
an  irregular  procession  of  stern-browed  men  and  un 
kindly  visaged  women,  Hester  Prynne  set  forth  towards 
the  place  appointed  for  her  punishment.  A  crowd  of 
eager  and  curious  school-boys,  understanding  little  of  the 
matter  in  hand,  except  that  it  gave  them  a  half-holiday, 
ran  before  her  progress,  turning  their  heads  continually 
to  stare  into  her  face,  and  at  the  winking  baby  in  her 
arms,  and  at  the  ignominious  letter  on  her  breast.  It 
was  no  great  distance,  in  those  days,  from  the  prison- 
door  to  the  market-place.  Measured  by  the  prisoner's 
experience,  however,  it  might  be  reckoned  a  journey  of 
some  length ;  for,  haughty  as  her  demeanor  was,  she  per 
chance  underwent  an  agony  from  every  footstep  of  those 
that  thronged  to  see  her,  as  if  her  heart  had  been  flung 


66  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

into  the  street  for  them  all  to  spurn  and  trample  upon. 
In  our  nature,  however,  there  is  a  provision,  alike  mar 
vellous  and  merciful,  that  the  sufferer  should  never  know 
the  intensity  of  what  he  endures  by  its  present  torture, 
but  chiefly  by  the  pang  that  rankles  after  it.  With 
almost  a  serene  deportment,  therefore,  Hester  Pryime 
passed  through  this  portion  of  her  ordeal,  and  came 
to  a  sort  of  scaffold,  at  the  western  extremity  of  the 
market-place.  It  stood  nearly  beneath  the  eaves  of 
Boston's  earliest  church,  and  appeared  to  be  a  fixture 
there. 

In  fact,  this  scaffold  constituted  a  portion  of  a  penal 
machine,  which  now,  for  two  or  three  generations  past, 
has  been  merely  historical  and  traditionary  among  us, 
but  was  held,  in  the  old  time,  to  be  as  effectual  an  agent, 
in  the  promotion  of  good  citizenship,  as  ever  was  the 
guillotine  among  the  terrorists  of  France.  It  was,  in 
short,  the  pi  iform  of  the  pillory ;  and  above  it  rose  the 
framework  of  that  instrument  of  discipline,  so  fash 
ioned  as  to  confine  the  human  head  in  its  tight  grasp, 
and  thus  hold  it  up  to  the  public  gaze.  The  very  ideal 
of  ignominy  was  embodied  and  made  manifest  in  this 
contrivance  of  wood  and  iron.  There  can  be  no  out 
rage,  methinks,  against  our  common  nature,  —  whatever 
be  the  delinquencies  of  the  individual,  —  no  outrage 
more  flagrant  than  to  forbid  the  culprit  to  hide  his  face 
for  shame ;  as  it  was  the  essence  of  this  punishment  to 
do.  In  Hester  Prynne's  instance,  however,  as  not  un- 
frequently  in  other  cases,  her  sentence  bore,  that  she 
should  stand  a  certain  time  upon  the  platform,  but  with 
out  undergoing  that  gripe  about  the  neck  and  confine 
ment  of  the  head,  the  proneness  to  which  was  the  most 
devilish  characteristic  of  this  ugly  engine.  Knowing 
well  her  part,  she  ascended  a  flight  of  wooden  steps,  and 


THE    MABKET-PLACE.  67 

was  thus  displayed  to  the  surrounding  multitude,  at 
about  the  height  of  a  man's  shoulders  above  the  street. 

Had  there  been  a  Papist  among  the  crowd  of  Puritans3 
he  might  have  seen  in  this  beautiful  woman,  so  pictu 
resque  in  her  attire  and  mien,  and  with  the  infant  at  her 
bosom,  an  object  to  remind  him  of  the  image  of  Divine 
Maternity,  which  so  many  illustrious  painters  have  vied 
with  one  another  to  represent ;  something  which  should 
remind  him,  indeed,  but  only  by  contrast,  of  that  sacred 
image  of  sinless  motherhood,  whose  infant  was  to  redeem 
the  world.  Here,  there  was  the  taint  of  deepest  sin  in 
the  most  sacred  quality  of  human  life,  working  such 
effect,  that  the  world  was  only  the  darker  for  this  wo 
man's  beauty,  and  the  more  lost  for  the  infant  that  she 
had  borne. 

The  scene  was  not  without  a  mixture  of  awe,  such  as 
must  always  invest  the  spectacle  of  guilt  and  shame  in  a 
fellow-creature,  before  society  shall  have  grown  corrupt 
enough  to  smile,  instead  of  shuddering,  at  it.  The  wit 
nesses  of  Hester  Prynne's  disgrace  had  not  yet  passed 
beyond  their  simplicity.  They  were  stern  enough  to 
look  upon  her  death,  had  that  been  the  sentence,  with 
out  a  murmur  at  its  severity,  but  had  none  of  the  heart- 
lessness  of  another  social  state,  which  would  find  only  a 
theme  for  jest  in  an'  exhibition  like  the  present.  Even 
had  there  been  a  disposition  to  turn  the  matter  into  ridi 
cule,  it  must  have  been  repressed  and  overpowered  by 
the  solemn  presence  of  men  no  less  dignified  than  the 
Governor,  and  several  of  his  counsellors,  a  judge,  a  gen 
eral,  and  the  ministers  of  the  town ;  all  of  whom  sat  or 
stood  in  a  balcony  of  the  meeting-house,  looking  down, 
upon  the  platform.  When  such  personages  could  con 
stitute  a  part  of  the  spectacle,  without  risking  the  maj 
esty  or  reverence  of  rank  and  office,  it  was  safely  to  be- 


68  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

inferred  that  the  infliction  of  a  legal  sentence  would  have 
an  earnest  and  effectual  meaning.  Accordingly,  the 
crowd  was  sombre  and  grave.  The  unhappy  culprit 
sustained  herself  as  best  a  woman  might,  under  the 
heavy  weight  of  a  thousand  unrelenting  eyes,  all  fastened 
upon  her,  and  concentrated  at  her  bosom.  It  was 
almost  intolerable  to  be  borne.  Of  an  impulsive  and 
passionate  nature,  she  had  fortified  herself  to  encounter 
the  stings  and  venomous  stabs  of  public  contumely, 
wreaking  itself  in  every  variety  of  insult ;  but  there  was 
a  quality  so  much  more  terrible  in  the  solemn  mood  of 
the  popular  mind,  that  she  longed  rather  to  behold  all 
those  rigid  countenances  contorted  with  scornful  merri 
ment,  and  herself  the  object.  Had  a  roar  of  laughter 
burst  from  the  multitude,  —  each  man,  each  woman, 
each  little  shrill-voiced  child,  contributing  their  individ 
ual  parts,  —  Hester  Prynue  might  have  repaid  them  all 
with  a  bitter  and  disdainful  smile.  But,  under  the  leaden 
infliction  which  it  was  her  doom  to  endure,  she  felt,  at 
moments,  as  if  she  must  needs  shriek  out  with  the  full 
power  of  her  lungs,  and  cast  herself  from  the  scaffold 
down  upon  the  ground,  or  else  go  mad  at  once. 

Yet  there  were  intervals  when  the  whole  scene,  in 
which  she  was  the  most  conspicuous  object,  seemed  to 
vanish  from  her  eyes,  or,  at  least,  glimmered  indistinctly 
before  them,  like  a  mass  of  imperfectly  shaped  and  spec 
tral  images.  Her  mind,  and  especially  her  memory,  was 
preternaturally  active,  and  kept  bringing  up  other  scenes 
than  this  roughly  hewn  street  of  a  little  town,  on  the 
edge  of  the  Western  wilderness ;  other  faces  than  were 
lowering  upon  her  from  beneath  the  brims  of  those  stee 
ple-crowned  hats.  Reminiscences  the  most  trifling  and 
immaterial,  passages  of  infancy  and  school-days,  sports, 
childish  quarrels,  and  the  little  domestic  traits  of  her 


THE    MARKET-PLACE.  69 

maiden  years,  came  swarming  back  upon  her,  inter 
mingled  with  recollections  of  whatever  was  gravest  ;ji 
her  subsequent  life ;  one  picture  precisely  as  vivid  as 
another ;  as  if  all  were  of  similar  importance,  or  all  alike 
a  play.  Possibly,  it  was  an  instinctive  cLvice  of  her 
spirit,  to  relieve  itself,  by  the  exbiHlion  of  these  phantas 
magoric  forms,  from  the  cruel  weight  and  hardness  of 
the  reality. 

Be  that  as  it  might,  the  scaffold  of  the  pillory  was  a 
point  of  view  that  revealed  to  Hester  Prynne  the  entire 
track  along  which  she  had  been  treading,  since  her  happy 
infancy.  Standing  on  that  miserable  eminence,  she  saw 
again  her  native  village,  in  Old  England,  and  her  paternal 
home ;  a  decayed  house  of  gray  stone,  with  a  poverty- 
stricken  aspect,  but  retaining  a  half-obliterated  shield 
of  arms  over  the  portal,  in  token  of  antique  gentility. 
She  saw  her  father's  face,  with  its  bald  brow,  and  rev 
erend  white  beard,  that  flowed  over  the  old-fashioned 
Elizabethan  ruff;  her  mother's,  too,  with  the  look  of 
heedful  and  anxious  love  which  it  always  wore  in  her 
remembrance,  and  which,  even  since  her  death,  had  so 
often  laid  the  impediment  of  a  gentle  remonstrance  in 
her  daughter's  pathway.  She  saw  her  own  face,  glow 
ing  with  girlish  beauty,  and  illuminating  all  the  interior 
of  the  dusky  mirror  in  which  she  had  been  wont  to  gaze 
at  it.  There  she  beheld  another  countenance,  of  a  man 
well  stricken  in  years,  a  pale,  thin,  scholar-like  visage, 
with  eyes  dim  and  bleared  by  the  lamplight  that  had 
served  them  to  pore  over  many  ponderous  books.  Yet 
those  same  bleared  optics  had  a  strange,  penetrating 
power,  when  it  was  their  owner's  purpose  to  read  the 
human  soul.  This  figure  of  the  study  and  the  cloister,  as 
Hester  Prynne' s  womanly  fancy  failed  not  to  recall,  was 
slightly  deformed,  with  the  left  shoulder  a  trifle  higher 


70  THE    SCAELET    LETTEE. 

tlan  the  right.  Next  rose  before  her,  in  memory's  pic 
ture-gallery,  the  intricate  and  narrow  thoroughfares,  the 
tali,  gray  houses,  the  huge  cathedrals,  and  the  public 
edifices,  •n^ient  in  date  and  quaint  in  architecture,  of  a 
Continental  city  ;  rhere  a  new  life  had  awaited  her,  still 
in  connection  with  the  misshapen  scholar;  a  new  life, 
but  feeding  itself  on  time-worn  materials,  like  a  tuft  of 
green  moss  on  a  crumbling  wall.  Lastly,  in  lieu  of 
these  shifting  scenes,  came  back  the  rude  market-place 
of  the  Puritan  settlement,  with  all  the  townspeople  as 
sembled  and  levelling  their  stern  regards  at  Hester 
Prynne,  —  yes,  at  herself,  —  who  stood  on  the  scaffold 
of  the  pillory,  an  infant  on  her  arm,  and  the  letter  A,  in 
scarlet,  fantastically  embroidered  with  gold-thread,  upon 
her  bosom  ! 

Could  it  be  true  ?  She  clutched  the  child  so  fiercely 
to  her  breast,  that  it  sent  forth  a  cry ;  she  turned  her 
eyes  downward  at  the  scarlet  letter,  and  even  touched  it 
with  her  finger,  to  assure  herself  that  the  infant  and  the 
shame  were  real.  Yes !  —  these  were  her  realities,  — 
all  else  had  vanished! 


III. 


THE   RECOGNITION. 

|  ROM  this  intense   consciousness   of  being  the 
object  of  severe  and  universal  observation,  the 

wearer  of  the   scarlet  letter  was  at  length  re- 

lieved,  by  discerning,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  a 
figure  which  irresistibly  took  possession  of  her  thoughts. 
An  Indian,  in  his  native  garb,  was  standing  there ;  but 
the  red  men  were  not  so  infrequent  visitors  of  the  English 
settlements,  that  one  of  them  would  have  attracted  an? 
notice  from  Hester  Prynne,  at  such  a  time  ;  much  less 
would  he  have  excluded  all  other  objects  and  ideas  from 
her  mind.  By  the  Indian's  side,  and  evidently  sustain 
ing  a  companionship  with  him,  stood  a  Avhite  man,  clad 
in  a  strange  disarray  of  civilized  and  savage  costume. 

He  was  small  in  stature,  with  a  furrowed  visage, 
which,  as  yet,  could  hardly  be  termed  aged.  There  was 
a  remarkable  intelligence  in  his  features,  as  of  a  person 
who  had  so  cultivated  his  mental  part  that  it  could  not 
fail  to  mould  the  physical  to  itself,  and  become  mani 
fest  by  unmistakable  tokens.  Although,  by  a  seemingly 
careless  arrangement  of  his  heterogeneous  garb,  he  had 
endeavored  to  conceal  or  abate  the  peculiarity,  it  was 
sufficiently  evident  to  Hester  P^nne,  that  one  of  this 


72  THE   SCARLET   LETTER. 

« 

man's  shoulders  rose  higher  than  the  other.  Again,  at 
the  first  instant  of  perceiving  that  thin  visage,  and  the 
slight  deformity  of  the  figure,  she  pressed  her  infant  to 
her  bosom  with  so  convulsive  a  force  that  the  poor  babe 
uttered  another  cry  of  pain.  But  the  mother  did  not 
seem  to  hear  it. 

At  his  arrival  in  the  market-place,  and  some  time 
before  she  saw  him,  the  stranger  had  bent  his  eyes  on 
Hester  Prynne.  It  was  carelessly,  at  first,  like  a  man 
chiefly  accustomed  to  look  inward,  and  to  whom  external 
matters  are  of  little  value  and  import,  unless  they  bear 
relation  to  something  within  his  mind.  Very  soon,  how 
ever,  his  look  became  keen  and  penetrative.  A  writhing 
horror  twisted  itself  across  his  features,  like  a  snake 
gliding  swiftly  over  them,  and  making  one  little  pause, 
with  all  its  wreathed  intervolutions  in  open  sight.  His 
face  darkened  with  some  powerful  emotion,  which,  nev 
ertheless.,  he  so  instantaneously  controlled  by  an  effort 
of  his  will,  that,  save  at  a  single  moment,  its  expression 
might  have  passed  for  calmness.  After  a  brief  space, 
the  convulsion  grew  almost  imperceptible,  and  finally 
subsided  into  the  depths  of  his  nature.  When  he  found 
the  eyes  of  Hester  Prynne  fastened  on  his  own,  and 
saw  that  she  appeared  to  recognize  him,  he  slowly  and 
calmly  raised  his  finger,  made  a  gesture  with  it  in  the 
air,  and  laid  it  on  his  lips. 

Then,  touching  the  shoulder  of  a  townsman  who  stood 
next  to  him,  he  addressed  him,  in  a  formal  and  courteous 
manner. 

"  I  pray  you,  good  Sir,"  said  he,  "who  is  this  woman? 
—  and  wherefore  is  she  here  set  up  to  public  shame  ?  " 

"  You  must  needs  be  a  stranger  in  this  region,  friend/* 
answered  the  townsman,  looking  curiously  at  the  ques 
tioner  and  his  savage  companion,  "  else  you  would 


THE    RECOGNITION.  78 

surely  have  heard  of  Mistress  Hester  Prynne,  and  her 
evil  doings.  She  hath  raised  a  great  scandal,  I  promise 
you,  in  godly  Master  Dimmesdale's  church." 

"  You  say  truly/5  replied  the  other.  "  I  am  a  stran 
ger,  and  have  been  a  wanderer,  sorely  against  my  will. 
I  have  met  with  grievous  mishaps  by  sea  and  land,  and 
bave  been  long  held  in  bonds  among  the  heathen-folk, 
o  the  southward;  and  am  now  brought  hither  by  this 
Indian,  to  be  redeemed  out  of  my  captivity.  Will  it 
please  you,  therefore,  to  tell  me  of  Hester  Prynne's,  — 
h.  ave  I  her  name  rightly  ?  —  of  this  woman's  offences, 
and  what  has  brought  her  to  yonder  scaffold?53 

"  Truly,  friend ;  and  methinks  it  must  gladden  your 
heart,  after  your  troubles  and  sojourn  in  the  wilderness," 
said  the  townsman,  "to  find  yourself,  at  length,  in  a 
land  where  iniquity  is  searched  out,  and  punished  in  the 
sight  of  rulers  and  people  ;  as  here  in  our  godly  New 
England.  Yonder  woman,  Sir,  you  must  know,  was 
the  wife  of  a  certain  learned  man,  English  by  birth,  but 
who  had  long  dwelt  in  Amsterdam,  whence,  some  good 
time  agone,  he  was  minded  to  cross  over  and  cast  in  his 
lot  with  us  of  the  Massachusetts.  To  this  purpose,  he 
sent  his  wife  before  him,  remaining  himself  to  look  after 
some  necessary  affairs.  Marry,  good  Sir,  in  some  two 
years,  or  less,  that  the  woman  has  been  a  dweller  here 
in  Boston,  no  tidings  have  come  of  this  learned  gentle 
man,  Master  Prynne ;  and  his  young  wife,  look  you, 
being  left  to  her  own  misguidance  — 5J 

"Ah!  —  aha! — I  conceive  you,55  said  the  stranger, 
with  a  bitter  smile.  "  So  learned  a  man  as  you  speak 
of  should  have  learned  this  too  in  his  books.  And  who. 
by  your  favor,  Sir,  may  be  the  father  of  yonder  babe—r 
it  is  some  three  or  four  months  old,  I  should  judge  — 
which  Mistress  Prynne  is  holding  in  her  arms  ?  " 
4 


74  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

"  Of  a  truth,  friend,  that  matter  remaineth  a  riddle ; 
and  the  Daniel  who  shall  expound  it  is  yet  a-wanting," 
answered  the  townsman.  "Madam  Hester  absolutely 
refuseth  to  speak,  and  the  magistrates  have  laid  their 
heads  together  in  vain.  Peradventure  the  guilty  one 
stands  looking  on  at  this  sad  spectacle,  unknown  of 
man,  and  forgetting  that  God  sees  him." 

"  The  learned  man/'  observed  the  stranger,  with 
another  smile,  "should  come  himself,  to  look  into  the 
mystery." 

"  It  behooves  him  well,  if  he  be  still  in  life,"  responded 
the  townsman.  "  Now,  good  Sir,  our  Massachusetts 
magistracy,  bethinking  themselves  that  this  woman  is 
youthful  and  fair,  and  doubtless  was  strongly  tempted  to 
her  fall,  —  and  that,  moreover,  as  is  most  likely,  her 
husband  may  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  —  they  have 
not  been  bold  to  put  in  force  the  extremity  of  our  right 
eous  law  against  her.  The  penalty  thereof  is  death. 
But  in  their  great  mercy  and  tenderness  of  heart,  they 
have  doomed  Mistress  Prynne  to  stand  only  a  space  of 
three  hours  on  the  platform  of  the  pillory,  and  then  and 
thereafter,  for  the  remainder  of  her  natural  life,  to  wear 
a,  mark  of  shame  npon  her  bosom." 

<c  A  wise  sentence ! "  remarked  the  stranger,  gravely 
bowing  his  head.  "  Thus  she  will  be  a  living  sermon 
against  sin,  until  the  ignominious  letter  be  engraved 
upon  her  tombstone.  It  irks  me,  nevertheless,  that  the 
partner  of  her  iniquity  should  not,  at  least,  stand  on  the 
scaffold  by  her  side.  But  he  will  be  known !  —  he  will 
be  known !  —  he  will  be  known !  " 

He  bowed  courteously  to  the  communicative  towns- 
'  man,  and,  whispering  a  few  words  to  his  Indian  attend 
ant,  they  both  made  their  way  through  the  crowd. 

While  this  passed,  Hester  Prynne  had  been  standing 


THE    RECOGNITION.  75 

on  her  pedestal,  still  with  a  fixed  gaze  towards  the 
stranger;  so  fixed  a  gaze,  that,  at  moments  of  intense 
absorption,  all  other  objects  in  the  visible  world  seemed 
to  vanish,  leaving  only  him  and  her.  Such  an  interview, 
perhaps,  would  have  been  more  terrible  than  even  to 
meet  him  as  she  now  did,  with  the  hot,  midday  sun 
burning  down  upon  her  face,  and  lighting  up  its  shame ; 
with  the  scarlet  token  of  infamy  on  her  breast;  with 
the  sin-born  infant  in  her  arms ;  with  a  whole  people, 
drawn  forth  as  to  a  festival,  staring  at  the  features  that 
should  have  been  seen  only  in  the  quiet  gleam  of  the 
fireside,  in  the  happy  shadow  of  a  home,  or  beneath  a 
matronly  veil,  at  church.  Dreadful  as  it  was,  she  was 
conscious  of  a  shelter  in  the  presence  of  these  thousand 
witnesses.  It  was  better  to  stand  thus,  with  so  many 
betwixt  him  and  her,  than  to  greet  him,  face  to  face,  they 
two  alone.  She  fled  for  refuge,  as  it  were,  to  the  public 
exposure,  and  dreaded  the  moment  when  its  protection 
should  be  withdrawn  from  her.  Involved  in  these 
thoughts,  she  scarcely  heard  a  voice  behind  her,  until  it 
had  repeated  her  name  more  than  once,  in  a  loud  and 
solemn  tone,  audible  to  the  whole  multitude. 

"  Hearken  unto  me,  Hester  Prynne !  "  said  the  voice. 

It  has  already  been  noticed,  that  directly  over  the 
platform  on  which  Hester  Prynne  stood  was  a  kind  of 
balcony,  or  open  gallery,  appended  to  the  meeting-house. 
It  was  the  place  whence  proclamations  were  wont  to  be 
made,  amidst  an  assemblage  of  the  magistracy,  with  all 
the  ceremonial  that  attended  such  public  observances  in 
those  days.  Here,  to  witness  the  scene  which  we  are 
describing,  sat  Governor  Bellingham  himself,  with  four 
sergeants  about  his  chair,  bearing  halberds,  as  a  guard  of 
honor.  He  wore  a  dark  feather  in  his  hat,  a  border  of 
embroidery  on  his  cloak,  and  a  black  velvet  tunic  beneath  ; 


76  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

a  gentleman  advanced  in  years,  with  a  hard  experience 
written  in  his  wrinkles.  He  was  not  ill  fitted  to  be  the 
head  and  representative  of  a  community,  which  owed  its 
origin  and  progress,  and  its  present  state  of  development, 
not  to  the  impulses  of  youth,  but  to  the  stern  and  tern 
pered  energies  of  manhood,  and  the  sombre  sagacity  of 
age;  accomplishing  so  much,  precisely  because  it  imagined 
and  hoped  so  little.  The  other  eminent  characters,  by 
whom  the  chief  ruler  was  surrounded,  were  distinguished 
by  a  dignity  of  mien,  belonging  to  a  period  when  the 
forms  of  authority  were  felt  to  possess  the  sacredness  of 
Divine  institutions.  They  were,  doubtless,  good  men, 
just,  and  sage.  But,  out  of  the  whole  human  family,  it 
would  not  have  been  easy  to  select  the  same  number  of 
wise  and  virtuous  persons,  who  should  be  less  capable 
of  sitting  in  judgment  on  an  erring  woman's  heart,  and 
disentangling  its  mesh  of  good  and  evil,  than  the  sages 
of  rigid  aspect  towards  whom  Hester  Prynne  now  turned 
her  face.  She  seemed  conscious,  indeed,  that  whatever 
sympathy  she  might  expect  lay  in  the  larger  and  warmer 
heart  of  the  multitude ;  for,  as  she  lifted  her  eyes  towards 
the  balcony,  the  unhappy  woman  grew  pale  and  trembled. 
The  voice  which  had  called  her  attention  was  that  of 
the  reverend  and  famous  John  Wilson,  the  eldest  clergy 
man  of  Boston,  a  great  scholar,  like  most  of  his  contem 
poraries  in  the  profession,  and  withal  a  man  of  kind  and 
genial  spirit.  This  last  attribute,  however,  had  been  less 
carefully  developed  than  his  intellectual  gifts,  and  was, 
in  truth,  rather  a  matter  of  shame  than  self-congratula 
tion  with  him.  There  he  stood,  with  a  border  of  grizzled 
locks  beneath  his  skull-cap ;  while  his  gray  eyes,  accus 
tomed  to  the  shaded  light  of  his  study,  were  winking, 
like  those  of  Hester's  infant,  in  the  unadulterated  sun 
shine.  He  looked  like  the  darkly  engraved  portraits 


THE    RECOGNITION.  77 

which  we  see  prefixed  to  old  volumes  of  sermons ;  and 
had  no  more  right  than  one  of  those  portraits  would  have, 
to  step  forth,  as  he  now  did,  and  meddle  with  a  question 
of  human  guilt,  passion,  and  anguish. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  I  have  striven 
with  my  young  brother  here,  under  whose  preaching  of 
the  word  you  have  been  privileged  to  sit," — here  Mr. 
Wilson  laid  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  a  pale  young 
man  beside  him,  —  "  I  have  sought,  I  say,  to  persuade 
this  godly  youth,  that  he  should  deal  with  you,  here  in 
the  face  of  Heaven,  and  before  these  wise  and  upright 
rulers,  and  in  hearing  of  all  the  people,  as  touching  the 
vileness  and  blackness  of  your  sin.  Knowing  your  nat 
ural  temper  better  than  I,  he  could  the  better  judge  what 
arguments  to  use,  whether  of  tenderness  or  terror,  such 
as  might  prevail  over  your  hardness  and  obstinacy ;  inso 
much  that  you  should  no  longer  hide  the  name  of  him 
who  tempted  you  to  this  grievous  fall.  But  he  opposes 
to  me  (with  a  young  man's  over-softness,  albeit  wise 
beyond  his  years),  that  it  were  wronging  the  very  nature 
of  woman  to  force  her  to  lay  open  her  heart's  secrets  in 
such  broad  daylight,  and  in  presence  of  so  great  a  mul 
titude.  Truly,  as  I  sought  to  convince  him,  the  shame 
lay  in  the  commission  of  the  sin,  and  not  in  the  showing 
of  it  forth.  What  say  you  to  it,  once  again,  Brother 
Dimmesdale  ?  Must  it  be  thou,  or  I,  that  shall  deal  with 
this  poor  sinner's  soul  ?  " 

There  was  a  murmur  among  the  dignified  and  rever 
end  occupants  of  the  balcony;  and  Governor  Bellingham 
gave  expression  to  its  purport,  speaking  in  an  authorita 
tive  voice,  although  tempered  with  respect  towards  the 
youthful  clergyman  whom  he  addressed. 

"  Good  Master  Dimmesdale,"  said  he,  "  the  responsi 
bility  of  this  woman's  soul  lies  greatly  with  you.  It 


78  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

behooves  you,  therefore,  to  exhort  her  to  repentance,  ana 
to  confession,  as  a  proof  and  consequence  thereof." 

The  directness  of  this  appeal  drew  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  crowd  upon  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale;  a 
young  clergyman,  who  had  come  from  one  of  the  great 
English  universities,  bringing  all  the  learning  of  the  age 
into  our  wild  forest-land.  His  eloquence  and  religious 
fervor  had  already  given  the  earnest  of  high  eminence  in 
his  profession.  He  was  a  person  of  very  striking  aspect, 
with  a  white,  lofty,  and  impending  brow,  large,  brown, 
melancholy  eyes,  and  a  mouth  which,  unless  when  he 
forcibly  compressed  it,  was  apt  to  be  tremulous,  express 
ing  both  nervous  sensibility  and  a  vast  power  of  self- 
restraint.  Notwithstanding  his  high  native  gifts  and 
scholar-like  attainments,  there  was  an  air  about  this 
young  minister,  —  an  apprehensive,  a  startled,  a  half- 
frightened  look,  —  as  of  a  being  who  felt  himself  quite 
astray  and  at  a  loss  in  the  pathway  of  human  existence, 
and  could  only  be  at  ease  in  some  seclusion  of  his  own. 
Therefore,  so  far  as  his  duties  would  permit,  he  trod  in 
the  shadowy  by-paths,  and  thus  kept  himself  simple  and 
childlike  ;  coming  forth,  when  occasion  was,  with  a  fresh 
ness,  and  fragrance,  and  dewy  purity  of  thought,  which, 
as  many  people  said,  affected  them  like  the  speech  of  an 
angel. 

Such  was  the  young  man  whom  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Wilson  and  the  Governor  had  introduced  so  openly  to 
the  public  notice,  bidding  him  speak,  in  the  hearing  of 
all  men,  to  that  mystery  of  a  woman's  soul,  so  sacred 
even  in  its  pollution.  The  trying  nature  of  his  position 
drove  the  blood  from  his  cheek,  and  made  his  lips  trem 
ulous. 

"  Speak  to  the  woman,  my  brother,"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 
**  It  is  of  moment  to  her  soul,  and  therefore,  as  the  wor- 


THE    RECOGNITION.  79 

shipful  Governor  says,  momentous  to  thine  own,  in  whose 
charge  hers  is.  Exhort  her  to  confess  the  truth  !  " 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  bent  his  head,  in  silent 
prayer,  as  it  seemed,  and  then  came  forward. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  said  he,  leaning  over  the  balcony 
and  looking  down  steadfastly  into  her  eyes,  "  thou  hear- 
est  what  this  good  man  says,  and  seest  the  accountability 
under  which  I  labor.  If  thou  feelest  it  to  be  for  thy 
soul's  peace,  and  that  thy  earthly  punishment  will  thereby 
be  made  more  effectual  to  salvation,  I  charge  thee  ta 
speak  out  the  name  of  thy  fellow-sinner  and  fellow-suf 
ferer  !  Be  not  silent  from  any  mistaken  pity  and  tender 
ness  for  him ;  for,  believe  me,  Hester,  though  he  were  ta 
step  down  from  a  high  place,  and  stand  there  beside  thee, 
on  thy  pedestal  of  shame,  yet  better  were  it  so,  than  ta 
hide  a  guilty  heart  through  life.  What  can  thy  silence 
do  for  him,  except  it  tempt  him  —  yea,  compel  him,  as 
it  were  —  to  add  hypocrisy  to  sin  ?  Heaven  hath  granted 
thee  an  open  ignominy,  that  thereby  thou  mayest  work 
out  an  open  triumph  over  the  evil  within  thee,  and  the 
sorrow  without.  Take  heed  how  thou  deniest  to  him  — 
who,  perchance,  hath  not  the  courage  to  grasp  it  for 
himself — the  bitter,  but  wholesome,  cup  that  is  now 
presented  to  thy  lips  !  " 

The  young  pastor's  voice  was  tremulously  sweet,  rich, 
deep,  and  broken.  The  feeling  that  it  so  evidently  mani 
fested,  rather  than  the  direct  purport  of  the  words,  caused 
it  to  vibrate  within  all  hearts,  and  brought  the  listeners 
into  one  accord  of  sympathy.  Even  the  poor  baby,  at 
Hester's  bosom,  was  affected  by  the  same  influence ;  for 
it  directed  its  hitherto  vacant  gaze  towards  Mr.  Dimmes 
dale,  and  held  up  its  little  arms,  with  a  half-pleased,  half- 
plaintive  murmur.  So  powerful  seemed  the  minister's 
appeal,  that  the  people  could  not  believe  but  that  Hester 


80  THE    SCARLET    LETTER, 

Prynne  would  speak  out  the  guilty  name ;  or  else  that 
the  guilty  one  himself,  in  whatever  high  or  lowly  place 
he  stood,  would  be  drawn  forth  by  an  inward  and  inevi 
table  necessity,  and  compelled  to  ascend  the  scaffold. 

Hester  shook  her  head. 

"  Woman,  transgress  not  beyond  the  limits  of  Heaven's 
-mercy  !  "  cried  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson,  more  harshly 
than  before.  "  That  little  babe  hath  been  gifted  with  a 
voice,  to  second  and  confirm  the  counsel  which  thou  hast 
heard.  Speak  out  the  name  !  That,  and  thy  repentance, 
may  avail  to  take  the  scarlet  letter  off  thy  breast." 

"  Never  !  "  replied  Hester  Prynne,  looking,  not  at  Mr. 
Wilson,  but  into  the  deep  and  troubled  eyes  of  the 
younger  clergyman.  "It  is  too  deeply  branded.  Ye 
cannot  take  it  off.  And  would  that  I  might  endure  his 
agony,  as  well  as  mine  !  " 

"  Speak,  woman !  "  said  another  voice,  coldly  and 
sternly,  proceeding  from  the  crowd  about  the  scaffold. 
"  Speak  ;  and  give  your  child  a  father !  " 

"  I  will  not  speak  !  "  answered  Hester,  turning  pale  as 
•death,  but  responding  to  this  voice,  which  she  too  surely 
recognized.  "And  my  child  must  seek  a  heavenly  Father; 
she  shall  never  know  an  earthly  one  !  " 

"  She  will  not  speak  ! "  murmured  Mr.  Dimmesdale, 
who,  leaning  over  the  balcony,  with  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  had  awaited  the  result  of  his  appeal.  He  now 
drew  back,  with  a  long  respiration.  "  Wondrous  strength 
and  generosity  of  a  woman's  heart !  She  will  not  speak  !  " 

Discerning  the  impracticable  state  of  the  poor  culprit's 
mind,  the  elder  clergyman,  who  had  carefully  prepared 
himself  for  the  occasion,  addressed  to  the  multitude  a 
discourse  on  sin,  in  all  its  branches,  but  with  continual 
reference  to  the  ignominious  letter.  So  forcibly  did  he 
dwell  upon  this  symbol,  for  the  hour  or  more  during 


THE    RECOGNITION.  81 

which  his  periods  were  rolling  over  the  people's  heads, 
that  it  assumed  new  terrors  in  their  imagination,  and 
seemed  to  derive  its  scarlet  hue  from  the  flames  of  the 
infernal  pit.  Hester  Prynne,  meanwhile,  kept  her  place 
upon  the  pedestal  of  shame,  with  glazed  eyes,  and  an  air 
of  weary  indifference.  She  had  borne,  that  morning,  all 
that  nature  could  endure ;  and  as  her  temperament  was 
not  of  the  order  that  escapes  from  too  intense  suffering 
by  a  swoon,  her  spirit  could  only  shelter  itself  beneath  a 
stony  crust  of  insensibility,  while  the  faculties  of  animal 
life  remained  entire.  In  this  state,  the  voice  of  the 
preacher  thundered  remorselessly,  but  unavailingly,  upon 
her  ears.  The  infant,  during  the  latter  portion  of  her 
ordeal,  pierced  the  air  with  its  wailings  and  screams; 
she  strove  to  hush  it,  mechanically,  but  seemed  scarcely 
to  sympathize  with  its  trouble.  With  the  same  hard 
demeanor,  she  was  led  back  to  prison,  and  vanished  from 
the  public  gaze  within  its  iron-clamped  portal.  It  was 
whispered,  by  those  who  peered  after  her,  that  the  scarlet 
letter  threw  a  lurid  gleam  along  the  dark  passage-way  of 
the  interior. 


THE  INTEBVIEW. 

|FTER  her  return  to  the  prison,  Hester  Prynne 
was  found  to  be  in  a  state  of  nervous  excite 
ment  that  demanded  constant  watchfulness,  lest 
she  should  perpetrate  violence  on  herself,  or  do  some 
half-frenzied  mischief  to  the  poor  babe.  As  night  ap 
proached/it  proving  impossible  to  quell  her  insubordi 
nation  by  rebuke  or  threats  of  punishment,  Master 
Brackett,  the  jailer,  thought  fit  to  introduce  a  physician. 
He  described  him  as  a  man  of  skill  in  all  Christian 
modes  of  physical  science,  and  likewise  familiar  with 
whatever  the  savage  people  could  teach,  in  respect  to 
medicinal  herbs  and  roots  that  grew  in  the  forest.  To 
say  the  truth,  there  was  much  need  of  professional  as 
sistance,  not  merely  for  Hester  herself,  but  still  more 
urgently  for  the  child  ;  who,  drawing  its  sustenance  from 
the  maternal  bosom,  seemed  to  have  drank  in  with  it  all 
the  turmoil,  the  anguish  and  despair,  which  pervaded 
the  mother's  system.  It  now  writhed  in  convulsions  of 
pain,  and  was  a  forcible  type,  in  its  little  frame,  of  the 
moral  agony  which  Hester  Prynne  had  borne  throughout 
the  day. 

Closely  following  the  jailer  into  the  dismal  apartment 


THE    INTERVIEW.  83 

appeared  that  individual,  of  singular  aspect,  whose  pres 
ence  in  the  crowd  had  been  of  such  deep  interest  to  the 
wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter.  He  was  lodged  in  the  prison, 
not  as  suspected  of  any  offence,  but  as  the  most  con 
venient  and  suitable  mode  of  disposing  of  him,  until  the 
magistrates  should  have  conferred  with  the  Indian  saga 
mores  respecting  his  ransom.  His  name  was  announced 
as  Roger  Chillingworth.  The  jailer,  after  ushering  him 
into  the  room,  remained  a  moment,  marvelling  at  the 
comparative  quiet  that  followed  his  entrance ;  for  Hester 
Prynne  had  immediately  become  as  still  as  death,  al 
though  the  child  continued  to  moan. 

"  Prithee,  friend,  leave  me  alone  with  my  patient," 
said  the  practitioner.  "  Trust  me,  good  jailer,  you  shall 
briefly  have  peace  in  your  house;  and,  I  promise  you, 
Mistress  Prynne  shall  hereafter  be  more  amenable  to  just 
authority  than  you  may  have  found  her  heretofore." 

"  Nay,  if  your  worship  can  accomplish  that,"  answered 
Master  Brackett,  "  I  shall  own  you  for  a  man  of  skill 
indeed !  Verily,  the  woman  hath  been  like  a  possessed 
one ;  and  there  lacks  little,  that  I  should  take  in  hand  to 
drive  Satan  out  of  her  with  stripes." 

The  stranger  had  entered  the  room  with  the  charac 
teristic  quietude  of  the  profession  to  which  he  announced 
himself  as  belonging.  Nor  did  his  demeanor  change, 
when  the  withdrawal  of  the  prison-keeper  left  him  face 
to  face  with  the  woman,  whose  absorbed  notice  of  him, 
in  the  crowd,  had  intimated  so  close  a  relation  between 
himself  and  her.  His  first  care  was  given  to  the  child  ; 
whose  cries,  indeed,  as  she  lay  writhing  on  the  trundle- 
bed,  made  it  of  peremptory  necessity  to  postpone  all 
other  business  to  the  task  of  soothing  her.  He  examined 
the  infant  carefully,  and  then  proceeded  to  unclasp  a 
leathern  case,  which  he  took  from  beneath  his  dress.  It 


84  THE    SCABLET    LETTER. 

appeared  to  contain  medical  preparations,  one  of  which 
he  mingled  with  a  cup  of  water. 

"  My  old  studies  in  alchemy/'  observed  he,  "  and  my 
sojourn,  for  above  a  year  past,  among  a  people  well  versed 
in  the  kindly  properties  of  simples,  have  made  a  better 
physician  of  me  than  many  that  claim  the  medical  degree. 
Here,  woman !  The  child  is  yours,  —  she  is  none  of 
mine,  —  neither  will  she  recognize  my  voice  or  aspect 
as  a  father's.  Administer  this  draught,  therefore,  with 
thine  own  hand." 

Hester  repelled  the  oifered  medicine,  at  the  same  time 
gazing  with  strongly  marked  apprehension  into  his  face. 

"  Wouldst  thou  avenge  thyself  on  the  innocent  babe  ?  " 
whispered  she. 

"  Eoolish  woman  ! "  responded  the  physician,  half 
coldly,  half  soothingly.  "  What  should  ail  me,  to  harm 
this  misbegotten  and  miserable  babe  ?  The  medicine  is 
potent  for  good ;  and  were  it  my  child,  —  yea,  mine  own, 
as  well  as  thine  !  —  I  could  do  no  better  for  it." 

As  she  still  hesitated,  being,  in  fact,  in  no  reasonable 
state  of  mind,  he  took  the  infant  in  his  arms,  and  him 
self  administered  the  draught.  It  soon  proved  its  efficacy, 
and  redeemed  the  leech's  pledge.  The  moans  of  the 
little  patient  subsided ;  its  convulsive  tossings  gradually 
ceased ;  and,  in  a  few  moments,  as  is  the  custom  of 
young  children  after  relief  from  pain,  it  sank  into  a  pro 
found  and  dewy  slumber.  The  physician,  as  he  had  a 
fair  right  to  be  termed,  next  bestowed  his  attention  on 
the  mother.  With  calm  and  intent  scrutiny,  he  felt  her 
pulse,  looked  into  her  eyes,  —  a  gaze  that  made  her  heart 
shrink  and  shudder,  because  so  familiar,  and  yet  so 
strange  and  cold,  —  and,  finally,  satisfied  with  his  investi 
gation,  proceeded  to  mingle  another  draught. 

"  I   know  not  Lethe  nor   Nepenthe/'  remarked  he ; 


THE    INTERVIEW.  85 

"  but  I  have  learned  many  new  secrets  in  the  wilderness, 
and  here  is  one  of  them, —  a  recipe  that  an  Indian  taught 
me,  in  requital  of  sonr  lessons  of  my  own,  that  were  as 
old  as  Paracelsus.  Drink  it !  It  may  be  less  soothing 
than  a  sinless  conscience.  That  I  cannot  give  thee.  But 
it  will  calm  the  swell  and  heaving  of  thy  passion,  like  oil 
thrown  on  the  waves  of  a  tempestuous  sea/5 

He  presented  the  cup  to  Hester,  who  received  it  with 
a  slow,  earnest  look  into  his  face ;  not  precisely  a  look  of 
fear,  yet  full  of  doubt  and  questioning,  as  to  what  his 
purposes  might  be.  She  looked  also  at  her  slumbering 
child. 

"  I  have  thought  of  death,"  said  she,  —  "  have  wished 
for  it,  —  would  even  have  prayed  for  it,  were  it  fit  that 
such  as  I  should  pray  for  anything.  Yet,  if  death  be  in 
this  cup,  I  bid  thee  think  again,  ere  thou  beholdest  me 
quaff  it.  See  !  It  is  even  now  at  my  lips." 

"Drink,  then,"  replied  he,  still  with  the  same  cold 
composure.  "  Dost  thou  know  me  so  little,  Hester 
Prynne?  Are  my  purposes  wont  to  be  so  shallow? 
Even  if  I  imagine  a  scheme  of  vengeance,  what  could  I 
do  better  for  my  object  than  to  let  thee  live,  —  than  to 
give  thee  medicines  against  all  harm  and  peril  of  life,  — 
so  that  this  burning  shame  may  still  blaze  upon  thy 
bosom  ?  "  As  he  spoke,  he  laid  his  long  forefinger  on 
the  scarlet  letter,  which  forthwith  seemed  to  scorch  into 
Hester's  breast,  as  if  it  had  been  red-hot.  He  noticed 
her  involuntary  gesture,  and  smiled.  "  Live,  therefore, 
and  bear  about  thy  doom  with  thee,  in  the  eyes  of  men 
and  women,  —  in  the  eyes  of  him  whom  thou  didst  call 
thy  husband,  —  in  the  eyes  of  yonder  child !  And,  that 
thou  mayest  live,  take  oif  this  draught." 

Without  further  expostulation  or  delay,  Hester  Prynne 
drained  the  cup,  and,  at  the  motion  of  the  man  of  skill,, 


86  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

seated  herself  on  the  bed  where  the  child  was  sleeping ; 
while  he  drew  the  only  chair  which  the  room  afforded, 
and  took  his  own  seat  beside  her.  She  could  not  but 
tremble  at  these  preparations ;  for  she  felt  that  —  having 
now  done  all  that  humanity,  or  principle,  or,  if  so  it 
were,  a  refined  cruelty,  impelled  him  to  do,  for  the  relief 
of  physical  suffering  —  he  was  next  to  treat  with  her  as 
the  man  whom  she  had  most  deeply  and  irreparably  in 
jured. 

"  Hester,"  said  he,  "  I  ask  not  wherefore,  nor  how. 
thou  hast  fallen  into  the  pit,  or  say,  rather,  thou  hast 
-ascended  to  the  pedestal  of  infamy,  on  which  I  found 
thee.  The  reason  is  not  far  to  seek.  It  was  my  folly, 
and  thy  weakness.  I,  —  a  man  of  thought, —  the  book 
worm  of  great  libraries,  —  a  man  already  in  decay,  having 
given  my  best  years  to  feed  the  hungry  dream  of  knowl 
edge,  —  what  had  I  to  do  with  youth  and  beauty  like 
thine  own  !  Misshapen  from  my  birth-hour,  how  could  I 
delude  myself  with  the  idea  that  intellectual  gifts  might 
veil  physical  deformity  in  a  young  girl's  fantasy  !  Men 
€all  me  wise.  If  sages  were  ever  wise  in  their  own 
behoof,  I  might  have  foreseen  all  this.  I  might  have 
known  that,  as  I  came  out  of  the  vast  and  dismal  forest, 
and  entered  this  settlement  of  Christian  men,  the  very 
•first  object  to  meet  my  eyes  would  be  thyself,  Hester 
Prynne,  standing  up,  a  statue  of  ignominy,  before  the 
people.  Nay,  from  the  moment  when  we  came  down  the 
old  church  steps  together,  a  married  pair,  I  might  have 
beheld  the  bale-fire  of  that  scarlet  letter  blazing  at  the 
end  of  our  path  !  " 

"Thou  knowest,"  said  Hester,  —  for,  depressed  as  she 
was,  she  could  not  endure  this  last  quiet  stab  at  the 
token  of  her  shame,  —  "  thou  knowest  that  I  was  frank 
with  thee.  I  felt  no  love,  nor  feigned  any." 


THE    INTERVIEW.  87 

•'  True/'  replied  he.  "  It  was  my  folly  I  I  have  said 
it.  But,  up  to  that  epoch  of  my  life,  I  had  lived  in 
vain.  The  world  had  been  so  cheerless  !  My  heart  was 
a  habitation  large  enough  for  many  guests,  but  lonely 
and  chill,  and  without  a  household  fire.  I  longed  to 
kindle  one  !  It  seemed  not  so  wild  a  dream,  —  old  as  I 
was,  and  sombre  as  I  was,  and  misshapen  as  I  was,  — 
that  the  simple  bliss,  which  is  scattered  far  and  wide,  for 
all  mankind  to  gather  up,  might  yet  be  mine.  And  so, 
Hester,  I  drew  thee  into  my  heart,  into  its  innermost 
chamber,  and  sought  to  warm  thee  by  the  warmth  which 
thy  presence  made  there  !  " 

"  I  have  greatly  wronged  thee,"  murmured  Hester. 

"  We  have  wronged  each  other/5  answered  he.  "  Mine 
was  the  first  wrong,  when  I  betrayed  thy  budding  youth 
into  a  false  and  unnatural  relation  with  my  decay. 
Therefore,  as  a  man  who  has  not  thought  and  philoso 
phized  in  vain,  I  seek  no  vengeance,  plot  no  evil  against 
thee.  Between  thee  and  me,  the  scale  hangs  fairly  bal 
anced.  But,  Hester,  the  man  lives  who  has  wronged  us 
both !  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Ask  me  not !  "  replied  Hester  Prynne,  looking  firmly 
into  his  face.  "  That  thou  shalt  never  know  !  " 

"  Never,  sayest  thou  ?  "  rejoined  he,  with  a  smile  of 
dark  and  self-relying  intelligence.  "  Never  know  him  ! 
Believe  me,  Hester,  there  are  few  things,  —  whether  in 
the  outward  world,  or,  to  a  certain  depth,  in  the  invisible 
sphere  of  thought,  —  few  things  hidden  from  the  man 
who  devotes  himself  earnestly  and  unreservedly  to  the 
solution  of  a  mystery.  Thou  mayest  cover  up  thy  secret 
from  the  prying  multitude.  Thou  mayest  conceal  it,  too, 
from  the  ministers  and  magistrates,  even  as  thou  didst 
this  day,  when  they  sought  to  wrench  the  name  out  of 
thy  heart,  and  give  thee  a  partner  on  thy  pedestal.  Bnt, 


88  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

as  for  me,  I  come  to  the  inquest  with  other  senses  than 
they  possess.  I  shall  seek  this  man,  as  I  have  sought 
truth  in  books;  as  I  have  sought  gold  in  alchemy. 
There  is  a  sympathy  that  will  make  me  conscious  of  him. 
I  shall  see  him  tremble.  I  shall  feel  myself  shudder, 
suddenly  and  unawares.  Sooner  or  later,  he  must  needs 
be  mine  !  " 

The  eyes  of  the  wrinkled  scholar  glowed  so  intensely 
upon  her,  that  Hester  Prynne  clasped  her  hands  over  her 
heart,  dreading  lest  he  should  read  the  secret  there  at 
once. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  reveal  his  name  ?  Not  the  less  he  is 
mine,"  resumed  he,  with  a  look  of  confidence,  as  if  des 
tiny  were  at  one  with  him.  "  He  bears  no  letter  of  in 
famy  wrought  ;nto  his  garment,  as  thou  dost ;  but  I  shall 
read  it  on  hk  heart.  Yet  fear  not  for  him  !  Think  not 
that  I  shall  interfere  with  Heaven's  own  method  of  ret 
ribution,  or,  to  my  own  loss,  betray  him  to  the  gripe  of 
human  law.  Neither  do  thou  imagine  that  I  shall  con 
trive  aught  against  his  life ;  no,  nor  against  his  fame,  if, 
as  I  judge,  he  be  a  man  of  fair  repute.  Let  him  live ! 
Let  him  hide  himself  in  outward  honor,  if  he  may  !  Not 
the  less  he  shall  be  mine  !  " 

"  Thy  acts  are  like  mercy,"  said  Hester,  bewildered  and 
appalled.  "  But  thy  words  interpret  thee  as  a  terror !  " 

"  One  thing,  thou  that  wast  my  wife,  I  would  enjoin 
upon  thee,"  continued  the  scholar.  "  Thou  hast  kept  the 
secret  of  thy  paramour.  Keep,  likewise,  mine  !  There 
are  none  in  this  land  that  know  me.  Breathe  not,  to  any 
human  soul,  that  thou  didst  ever  call  me  husband  !  Here, 
on  this  wild  outskirt  of  the  earth,  I  shall  pitch  my  tent ; 
for,  elsewhere  a  wanderer,  and  isolated  from  human  in 
terests,  I  find  here  a  woman,  a  man,  a  child,  amongst 
whom  and  myself  there  exist  the  closest  ligaments.  No 


THE    INTERVIEW.  89 

matter  whether  of  love  or  hate ;  no  matter  whether  of 
right  or  wrong !  Thou  and  thine,  Hester  Prynne,  belong 
to  me.  My  home  is  where  thou  art,  and  where  he  is. 
But  betray  me  not !  " 

"Wherefore  dost  thou  desire  it?"  inquired  Hester, 
shrinking,  she  hardly  knew  why,  from  this  secret  bond. 
"  Why  not  announce  thyself  openly,  and  cast  me  off  at 
once?" 

"  It  may  be,"  he  replied,  "  because  I  will  not  encounter 
the  dishonor  that  besmirches  the  husband  of  a  faithless 
woman.  It  may  be  for  other  reasons.  Enough,  it  is  my 
purpose  to  live  and  die  unknown.  Let,  therefore,  thy 
husband  be  to  the  world  as  one  already  dead,  and  of 
whom  no  tidings  shall  ever  come.  Recognize  me  not, 
by  word,  by  sign,  by  look !  Breathe  not  the  secret, 
above  all,  to  the  man  thou  wottest  of.  Shouldst  thou 
fail  me  in  this,  beware  !  His  fame,  his  position,  his  life, 
will  be  in  my  hands.  Beware  !  " 

"  I  will  keep  thy  secret,  as  I  have  his,"  said  Hester. 

"  Swear  it !  "  rejoined  he. 

And  she  took  the  oath. 

"And  now,  Mistress  Prynne,"  said  old  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth,  as  he  was  hereafter  to  be  named,  "I  leave 
*  thee  alone ;  alone  with  thy  infant,  and  the  scarlet  letter ! 
How  is  it,  Hester?  Doth  thy  sentence  bind  thee  to 
wear  the  token  in  thy  sleep  ?  Art  thou  not  afraid  of 
nightmares  and  hideous  dreams  ?  " 

"Why  dost  thott  smile  so  at  me?"  inquired  Hester, 
troubled  at  the  expression  of  his  eyes.  "  Art  thou  like 
the  Black  Man  that  haunts  the  forest  round  about  us  ? 
Hast  thou  enticed  me  into  a  bond  that  will  prove  the 
ruin  of  my  soul?" 

"Not  thy  soul,"  he  answered,  with  another  smile. 
*  No,  not  thine  !  " 


Y. 


HESTER  AT  HER  NEEDLE. 


pSTER  PRYNNE'S  term  of  confinement  was 
now  at  an  end.  Her  prison-door  was  thrown 
open,  and  she  came  forth  into  the  sunshine, 
which,  falling  on  all  alike,  seemed,  to  her  sick  and  mor 
bid  heart,  as  if  meant  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  reveal 
the  scarlet  letter  on  her  breast.  Perhaps  there  was  a 
more  real  torture  in  her  first  unattended  footsteps  from 
the  threshold  of  the  prison,  than  even  in  the  procession 
and  spectacle  that  have  been  described,  where  she  wan 
made  the  common  infamy,  at  which  all  mankind  wai 
summoned  to  point  its  finger.  Then,  she  was  supported 
by  an  unnatural  tension  of  the  nerves,  and  by  all  the 
combative  energy  of  her  character,  which  enabled  her 
to  convert  the  scene  into  a  kind  of  lurid  triumph.  It 
was,  moreover,  a  separate  and  insulated  event,  to  occur 
but  once  in  her  lifetime,  and  to  meet  which,  therefore 
reckless  of  economy,  she  might  call  up  the  vital  strengt 
that  would  have  sufficed  for  many  quiet  years.  The  verv 
law  that  condemned  her  —  a  giant  of  stern  features,  but 
with  vigor  to  support,  as  well  as  to  annihilate,  in  his  iron 
arm  —  had  held  her  up,  through  the  terrible  ordeal  of 
her  ignominy.  But  now,  with  this  unattended  walk  from 


HESTER    AT    HER   NEEDLE.  91 

her  prison-door,  began  the  daily  custom ;  and  she  must 
either  sustain  and  carry  it  forward  by  the  ordinary 
resources  of  her  nature,  or  sink  beneath  it.  She  could 
no  longer  borrow  from  the  future  to  help  her  through 
the  present  grief.  To-morrow  would  bring  its  own  trial 
with  it ;  so  would  the  next  day,  and  so  would  the  next ; 
each  its  own  trial,  and  yet  the  very  same  that  was  now 
so  unutterably  grievous  to  be  borne.  The  days  of  the 
far-off  future  would  toil  onward,  still  with  the  same  bur 
den  for  her  to  take  up,  and  bear  along  with  her,  but 
never  to  fling  down;  for  the  accumulating  days,  and 
added  years,  would  pile  up  their  misery  upon  the  heap 
of  shame.  Throughout  them  all,  giving  up  her  individu 
ality,  she  would  become  the  general  symbol  at  which  the 
preacher  and  moralist  might  point,  and  in  which  they 
might  vivify  and  embody  their  images  of  woman's  frailty 
and  sinful  passion.  Thus  the  young  and  pure  would  be 
taught  to  look  at  her,  with  the  scarlet  letter  flaming  on 
her  breast,  —  at  her,  the  child  of  honorable  parents,  —  at 
her,  the  mother  of  a  babe,  that  would  hereafter  be  a 
woman,  —  at  her,  who  had  once  been  innocent,  —  as  the 
figure,  the  body,  the  reality  of  sin.  And  over  her  grave, 
the  infamy  that  she  must  carry^  thither  would  be  her  only 
monument. 

It  may  seem  marvellous,  that,  with  the  world  before 
her,  —  kept  by  no  restrictive  clause  of  her  condemnation 
within  the  limits  of  the  Puritan  settlement,  so  remote 
and  so  obscure,  —  free  to  return  to  her  birthplace,  or  to 
any  other  European  land,  and  there  hide  her  character 
and  identity  under  a  new  exterior,  as  completely  as  if 
emerging  into  another  state  of  being,  —  and  having  also 
the  passes  of  the  dark,  inscrutable  forest  open  to  her, 
where  the  wildness  of  her  nature  might  assimilate  itself 
with  a  people  whose  customs  and  life  were  alien  from 


92  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

the  law  that  had  condemned  her,  —  it  may  seem  marvel 
lous,  that  this  woman  should  still  call  that  place  her 
home,  where,  and  where  only,  she  must  needs  be  the 
type  of  shame.  I  But  there  is  a  fatality,  a  feeling  so  irre 
sistible  and  inevitable  that  it  has  the  force  of  doom, 
which  almost  invariably  compels  human  beings  to  linger 
around  and  haunt,  ghost-like,  the  spot  where  some  great 
and  marked  event  has  given  the  color  to  their  lifetime ; 
and  still  the  more  irresistibly,  the  darker  the  tinge  that 
addens  it.  Her  sin,  her  ignominy,  were  the  roots 
which  she  had  struck  into  the  soil.  It  was  as  if  a  new 
birth,  with  stronger  assimilations  than  the  first,  had 
converted  the  forest-land,  still  so  uncongenial  to  every 
other  pilgrim  and  wanderer,  into  Hester  Prynne's  wild 
and  dreary,  but  life-long  home.  JA.11  other  scenes  of  earth 

—  even  that  village  of  rural Tlngland,  where  happy  in 
fancy  and  stainless  maidenhood  seemed  yet  to  be  in  her 
mother's  keeping,  like  garments  put  off  long  ago  —  were 
foreign  to  her,  in  comparison.     The  chain  that  bound  her 
here  was  of  iron  links,  and  galling  to  her  inmost  soul, 
but  could  never  be  broken. 

It  might  be,  too,  —  doubtless  it  was  so,  although  she 
hid  the  secret  from  herself,  and  grew  pale  whenever  it 
struggled  out  of  her  heart,  like  a  serpent  from  its  hole, 

—  it  might  be  that  another  feeling  kept  her  within  the 
scene  and  pathway  that  had  been  so  fatal.     There  dwelt, 
there  trocle  the  feet  of  one  with  whom  she  deemed  herself 
connected  in  a  union,  that,  unrecognized  on  earth,  would 
bring  them  together  before  the  bar  of  final  judgment,  and 
make  that  their  marriage-altar,  for  a  joint  futurity  of  end 
less  retribution.     Over  and  over  again,  the  tempter  of 
souls  had  thrust  this  idea  upon  Hester's  contemplation, 
and  laughed  at  the  passionate  and   desperate  joy  with 
which  she  seized,  and  then  strove  to  cast  it  from  her. 


HESTER   AT    HER    NEEDLE.  98 

She  barely  looked  the  idea  in  the  face,  and  hastened  to 
bar  it  in  its  dungeon.  What  she  compelled  herself  to 
believe  —  what,  finally,  she  reasoned  upon,  as  her  mo 
tive  for  continuing  a  resident  of  New^England —  was 
half  a  truth,  and  half  a  self-delusion.  (Jlere,  she  said  to 
herself,  had  been  the  scene  of  her  guilt,  and  here  should 
be  the  scene  of  her  earthly  punishment;  and  so,  per 
chance,  the  torture  of  her  daily  shame  would  at  length 
purge  her  soul,  and  work  out  another  purity  than  that 
which  she  had  lost ;  more  saint-like,  because  the  result 
of  martyrdom?"] 

Hester  Prynne,  therefore,  did  not  flee.  On  the  out 
skirts  of  the  town,  within  the  verge  of  the  peninsula,  but 
not  in  close  vicinity  to  any  other  habitation,  there  was 
a  small  thatched  cottage.  It  had  been  built  by  an  earlier 
settler,  and  abandoned,  because  the  soil  about  it  was  too 
sterile  for  cultivation,  while  its  comparative  remoteness 
put  'it  out  of  the  sphere  of  that  social  activity  which 
already  marked  the  habits  of  the  emigrants.  It  stood  on 
the  shore,  looking  across  a  basin  of  the  sea  at  the  forest- 
covered  hills,  towards  the  west.  A  clump  of  scrubby 
trees,  such  as  alone  grew  on  the  peninsula,  did  not  so 
much  conceal  the  cottage  from  view,  as  seem  to  denote 
that  here  was  some  object  which  would  fain  have  been, 
or  at  least  ought  to  be,  concealed.  In  this  little,  lone 
some  dwelling,  with  some  slender  means  that  she  pos 
sessed,  and  by  the  license  of  the  magistrates,  who  still 
kept  an  inquisitorial  watch  over  her,  Hester  established 
herself,  with  her  infant  child.  A  mystic  shadow  of 
suspicion  immediately  attached  itself  to  the  spot.  Chil 
dren,  too  young  to  comprehend  wherefore  this  woman 
should  be  shut  out  from  the  sphere  of  human  charities, 
would  creep  nigh  enough  to  behold  her  plying  her  needle 
at  the  cottage-window,  or  standing  in  the  doorway,  or 


94  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

laboring  in  her  little  garden,  or  coming  forth  along  the 
pathway  that  led  townward ;  and,  discerning  the  scarlet 
letter  on  her  breast,  would  scamper  off  with  a  strange, 
contagious  fear. 

Lonely  as  was  Hester's  situation,  and  without  a 
friend  on  earth  who  dared  to  show  himself,  she,  how 
ever,  incurred  no  risk  of  want.  She  possessed  an  art 
that  sufficed,  even  in  a  land  that  afforded  comparatively 
little  scope  for  its  exercise,  to  supply  food  for  her  thriv^ 
ing  infant  and  herself.  It  was  the  art  —  then,  as  now, 
almost  the  only  one  within  a  woman's  grasp  —  of 
needlework.  She  bore  on  her  breast,  in  the  curiously 
embroidered  letter,  a  specimen  of  her  delicate  aiid  imagi 
native  skill,  of  which  the  dames  of  a  court  might  gladly 
have  availed  themselves,  to  add  the  richer  and  more 
spiritual  adornment  of  human  ingenuity  to  their  fabrics 
of  silk  and  gold.  Here,  indeed,  in  the  sable  simplicity 
that  generally  characterized  the  Puritanic  modes  of  dress, 
there  might  be  an  infrequent  call  for  the  finer  produc 
tions  of  her  handiwork.  Yet  the  taste  of  the  age,  de 
manding  whatever  was  elaborate  in  compositions  of  this 
kind,  did  not  fail  to  extend  its  influence  over  our  stern 
progenitors,  who  had  cast  behind  them  so  many  fashions 
which  it  might  seem  harder  to  dispense  with.  Public 
ceremonies,  such  as  ordinations,  the  installation  of 
magistrates,  and  all  that  could  give  majesty  to  the  forms 
in  which  a  new  government  manifested  itself  to  the 
people,  were,  as  a  matter  of  policy,  marked  by  a  stately 
and  well-conducted  ceremonial,  and  a  sombre,  but  yet 
a  studied  magnificence.  Deep  ruffs,  painfully  wrought 
bands,  and  gorgeously  embroidered  gloves,  were  all 
deemed  necessary  to  the  official  state  of  men  assuming 
the  reins  of  power;  and  were  readily  allowed  to  indi- 
yiduals  dignified  by  rank  or  wealth,  even  while  sump- 


HESTER    AT    HER    NEEDLE.  95 

tuary  laws  forbade  these  and  similar  extravagances  to 
the  plebeian  order.  In  the  array  of  funerals,  too,  — 
whether  for  the  apparel  of  the  dead  body,  or  to  typify, 
by  manifold  emblematic  devices  of  sable  cloth  and  snowy 
lawn,  the  sorrow  of  the  survivors,  —  there  was  a  fre 
quent  and  characteristic  demand  for  such  labor  as  Hes 
ter  Prynne  could  supply.  Baby -linen  —  for  babies  then 
wore  robes  of  state  —  afforded  still  another  possibility 
of  toil  and  emolument. 

By  degrees,  nor  very  slowly,  her  handiwork  became 
what  would  now  be  termed  the  fashion.  Whether  from 
commiseration  for  a  woman  of  so  miserable  a  destiny ; 
or  from  the  morbid  curiosity  that  gives  a  fictitious  value 
even  to  common  or  worthless  things ;  or  by  whatever 
other  intangible  circumstance  was  then,  as  now,  sufficient 
to  bestow,  on  some  persons,  what  others  might  seek  in 
vain ;  or  because  Hester  really  filled  a  gap  which  must 
otherwise  have  remained  vacant;  it  is  certain  that  she 
had  ready  and  fairly  requited  employment  for  as  many 
hours  as  she  saw  fit  to  occupy  with  her  needle.  Vanity, 
it  may  be,  chose  to  mortify  itself,  by  putting  on,  for 
ceremonials  of  pomp  and  state,  the  garments  that  had 
been  wrought  by  her  sinful  hands.  Her  needlework 
was  seen  on  the  ruff  of  the  Governor ;  military  men 
wore  it  on  their  scarfs,  and  the  minister  on  his  band ;  it 
decked  the  baby's  little  cap ;  it  was  shut  up,  to  be  mil 
dewed  and  moulder  away,  in  the  coffins  of  the  dead. 
But  it  is  not  recorded  that,  in  a  single  instance,  her  skill 
was  called  in  aid  to  embroider  the  white  veil  which  was 
to  cover  the  pure  blushes  of  a  bride.  The  exception 
indicated  the  ever-relentless  rigor  with  which  society 
frowned  upon  her  sin. 

Hester  sought  not  to  acquire  anything  beyond  a  sub 
sistence,  of  the  plainest  and  most  ascetic  description,  for 


96  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

herself,  and  a  simple  abundance  for  her  child.  Her  own 
dress  was  of  the  coarsest  materials  and  the  most  sombre 
hue ;  with  only  that  one  ornament,  —  the  scarlet  letter, 
—  which  it  was  her  doom  to  wear.  The  child's  attire, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  distinguished  by  a  fanciful,  or,  we 
might  rather  say,  a  fantastic  ingenuity,  which  served, 
indeed,  to  heighten  the  airy  charm  that  early  began  to 
develop  itself  in  the  little  girl,  but  which  appeared  to 
have  also  a  deeper  meaning.  We  may  speak  further 
of  it  hereafter.  Except  for  that  small  expenditure  in 
the  decoration  of  her  infant,  Hester  bestowed  all  her 
superfluous  means  in  charity,  on  wretches  less  misera 
ble  than  herself,  and  who  not  unfrequently  insulted  the 
hand  that  fed  them.  Much  of  the  time,  which  she 
might  readily  have  applied  to  the  better  efforts  of  her 
art,  she  employed  in  making  coarse  garments  for  the 
poor.  It  is  probable  that  there  was  an  idea  of  penance 
in  this  mode  of  occupation,  and  that  she  offered  up  a  real 
sacrifice  of  enjoyment,  in  devoting  so  many  hours  to 
such  rude  handiwork.  She  had  in  her  nature  a  rich, 
voluptuous,  Oriental  characteristic,  — a  taste  for  the 
gorgeously  beautiful,  which,  save  in  the  exquisite  pro 
ductions  of  her  needle,  found  nothing  else,  in  all  the 
possibilities  of  her  life,  to  exercise  itself  upon.  Women 
derive  a  pleasure,  incomprehensible  to  the  other  sex, 
from  the  delicate  toil  of  the  needle.  To  Hester  Prynne 
it  might  have  been  a  mode  of  expressing,  and  there 
fore  soothing,  the  passion  of  her  life.  Like  all  other 
joys,  she  rejected  it  as  sin.  This  morbid  meddling  of 
conscience  with  an  immaterial  matter  betokened,  it  is  to 
be  feared,  no  genuine  and  steadfast  penitence,  but  some 
thing  doubtful,  something  that  might  be  deeply  wrong, 
beneath. 
In  this  manner,  Hester  Prynne  came  to  have  a  part 


HESTER   AT    HER   NEEDLE.  97 

to  perform  in  the  world.  With  her  native  energy  ol 
character,  and  rare  capacity,  it  could  not  entirely  cast 
her  off,  although  it  had  set  a  mark  upon  her,  more  in 
tolerable  to  a  woman's  heart  than  that  which  branded 
the  brow  of  Cain.  In  all  her  intercourse  with  society, 
however,  there  was  nothing  that  made  her  feel  as  if  she 
belonged  to  it.  Every  gesture,  every  word,  and  even 
the  silence  of  those  with  whom  she  came  in  contact, 
implied,  and  often  expressed,  that  she  was  banished, 
and  as  much  alone  as  if  she  inhabited  another  sphere, 
or  communicated  with  the  common  nature  by  other 
organs  and  senses  than  the  rest  of  human  kind.  She 
stood  apart  from  moral  interests,  yet  close  beside  them, 
like  a  ghost  that  revisits  the  familiar  fireside,  and  can 
no  longer  make  itself  seen  or  felt ;  no  more  smile  with 
the  household  joy,  nor  mourn  with  the  kindred  sorrow ; 
or,  should  it  succeed  in  manifesting  its  forbidden  sym 
pathy,  awakening  only  terror  and  horrible  repugnance. 
These  emotions,  in  fact,  and  its  bitterest  scorn  besides, 
seemed  to  be  the  sole  portion  that  she  retained  in  the 
universal  heart.  It  was  not  an  age  of  delicacy;  and 
her  position,  although  she  understood  it  well,  and  was 
in  little  danger  of  forgetting  it,  was  often  brought  be 
fore  her  vivid  self-perception,  like  a  new  anguish,  by 
the  rudest  touch  upon  the  tenderest  spot.  The  poor,  as 
we  have  already  said,  whom  she  sought  out  to  be  the 
objects  of  her  bounty,  often  reviled  the  hand  that  was 
stretched  forth  to  succor  them.  Dames  of  elevated 
rank,  likewise,  whose  doors  she  entered  in  the  way  of 
her  occupation,  were  accustomed  to  distil  drops  of  bit 
terness  into  her  heart ;  sometimes  through  that  alchemy 
of  quiet  malice,  by  which  women  can  concoct  a  subtle 
poison  from  ordinary  trifles ;  and  sometimes,  also,  by  a 
coarser  expression,  that  fell  upon  the  sufferer's  defence- 
5  G 


98  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

less  breast  like  a  rough  blow  upon  an  ulcerated  wound. 
Hester  had  schooled  herself  long  and  well;  she  never 
responded  to  these  attacks,  save  by  a  flush  of  crimson 
that  rose  irrepressibly  over  her  pale  cheek,  and  again 
subsided  into  the  depths  of  her  bosom.  She  was  patient, 
—  a  martyr,  indeed,  —  but  she  forbore  to  pray  for  her 
enemies ;  lest,  in  spite  of  her  forgiving  aspirations,  the 
words  of  the  blessing  should  stubbornly  twist  themselves 
into  a  curse. 

Continually,  and  in  a  thousand  other  ways,  did  she 
feel  the  innumerable  throbs  of  anguish  that  had  been 
so  cunningly  contrived  for  her  by  the  undying,  the 
ever-active  sentence  of  the  Puritan  tribunal.  Clergy 
men  paused  in  the  street  to  address  words  of  exhorta 
tion,  that  brought  a  crowd,  with  its  mingled  grin  and 
frown,  around  the  poor,  sinful  woman.  If  she  entered 
a  church,  trusting  to  share  the  Sabbath  smile  of  the 
Universal  Father,  it  was  often  her  mishap  to  find  her 
self  the  text  of  the  discourse.  She  grew  to  have  a 
dread  of  children ;  for  they  had  imbibed  from  their 
parents  a  vague  idea  of  something  horrible  in  this  dreary 
woman,  gliding  silently  through  the  town,  with  never 
any  companion  but  one  only  child.  Therefore,  first 
allowing  her  to  pass,  they  pursued  her  at  a  distance  with 
shrill  cries,  and  the  utterance  of  a  word  that  had  no  dis 
tinct  purport  to  their  own  minds,  but  was  none  the  less 
terrible  to  her,  as  proceeding  from  lips  that  babbled  it 
unconsciously.  It  seemed  to  argue  so  wide  a  diffusion 
of  her  shame,  that  all  nature  knew  of  it ;  it  could  have 
caused  her  no  deeper  pang,  had  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
whispered  the  dark  story  among  themselves,  —  had 
the  summer  breeze  murmured  about  it,  —  had  the  wintry 
blast  shrieked  it  aloud !  Another  peculiar  torture  was 
felt  in  the  gaze  of  a  new  eye.  When  strangers  looked 


HESTER    AT    HER   NEEDLE.  99 

curiously  at  the  scarlet  letter,  —  and  none  ever  failed  to 
do  so,  —  they  branded  it  afresh  into  Hester's  soul ;  so 
that,  oftentimes,  she  could  scarcely  refrain,  yet  always 
did  refrain,  from  covering  the  symbol  with  her  hand. 
But  then,  again,  an  accustomed  eye  had  likewise  its  own 
anguish  to  inflict.  Its  cool  stare  of  familiarity  was  in- 
tolerable.  From  first  to  last,  in  short,  Hester  Prynue 
had  always  this  dreadful  agony  in  feeling  a  human  eye 
upon  the  token ;  the  spot  never  grew  callous ;  it  seemed, 
on  the  contrary,  to  grow  more  sensitive  with  daily  tor 
ture. 

But  sometimes,  once  in  many  days,  or  perchance  in 
many  months,  she  felt  an  eye  —  a  human  eye  —  upon 
the  ignominious  brand,  that  seemed  to  give  a  momentary 
relief,  as  if  half  of  her  agony  were  shared.  The  next 
instant,  back  it  all  rushed  again,  with  still  a  deeper  throb 
of  pain ;  for,  in  that  brief  interval,  she  had  sinned  anew. 
Had  Hester  sinned  alone  ? 

Her  imagination  was  somewhat  affected,  and,  had  she 
been  of  a  softer  moral  and  intellectual  fibre,  would  have 
been  still  more  so,  by  the  strange  and  solitary  anguish 
of  her  life.  Walking  to  and  fro,  with  those  lonely  foot 
steps,  in  the  little  world  with  which  she  was  outwardly 
connected,  it  now  and  then  appeared  to  Hester,  —  if 
altogether  fancy,  it  was  nevertheless  too  potent  to  be  re 
sisted,  — •  she  felt  or  fancied,  then,  that  the  scarlet  lettei 
had  endowed  her  with  a  new  sense.  She  shuddered  to 
believe,  yet  could  not  help  believing,  that  it  gave  her  a 
sympathetic  knowledge  of  the  hidden  sin  in  other  hearts. 
She  was  terror-stricken  by  the  revelations  that  were  thus 
made.  What  were  they  ?  Could  they  be  other  than 
the  insidious  whispers  of  the  bad  angel,  who  would  fain 
have  persuaded  the  struggling  woman,  as  yet  only  half 
his  victim,  that  the  outward  guise  of  purity  was  but  a 


100         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

lie,  and  that,  if  truth  were  everywhere  to  be  shown,  a 
scarlet  letter  would  blaze  forth  on  many  a  bosom  besides 
Hester  Prynne's  ?  Or,  must  she  receive  those  intima 
tions  —  so  obscure,  yet  so  distinct  —  as  truth  ?  In  all 
her  miserable  experience,  there  was  nothing  else  so  awful 
and  so  loathsome  as  this  sense.  It  perplexed,  as  well  as 
shocked  her,  by  the  irreverent  inopportuneness  of  the  oc 
casions  that  brought  it  into  vivid  action.  Sometimes  the 
red  infamy  upon  her  breast  would  give  a  sympathetic 
throb,  as  she  passed  near  a  venerable  minister  or  magis 
trate,  the  model  of  piety  and  justice,  to  whom  that  age 
of  antique  reverence  looked  up,  as  to  a  mortal  man  in 
fellowship  with  angels.  "  What  evil  thing  is  at  hand  ?  " 
would  Hester  say  to  herself.  Lifting  her  reluctant  eyes, 
there  would  be  nothing  human  within  the  scope  of  view, 
save  the  form  of  this  earthly  saint !  Again,  a  mystic 
sisterhood  would  contumaciously  assert  itself,  as  she  met 
the  sanctified  frown  of  some  matron,  who,  according  to 
the  rumor  of  all  tongues,  had  kept  cold  snow  within  her 
bosom  throughout  life.  That  unsunned  snow  in  the 
matron's  bosom,  and  the  burning  shame  on  Hester 
Prynne's,  —  what  had  the  two  in  common  ?  Or,  once 
more,  the  electric  thrill  would  give  her  warning,  — 
"Behold,  Hester,  here  is  a  companion !  "  — and,  looking 
up,  she  would  detect  the  eyes  of  a  young  maiden  glancing 
at  the  scarlet  letter,  shyly  and  aside,  and  quickly  averted 
with  a  faint,  chill  crimson  in  her  cheeks ;  as  if  her  purity 
were  somewhat  sullied  by  that  momentary  glance.  O 
Fiend,  whose  talisman  was  that  fatal  symbol,  wouldst 
thou  leave  nothing,  whether  in  youth  or  age,  for  this 
poor  sinner  to  revere  ?  —  such  loss  of  faith  is  ever  one 
of  the  saddest  results  of  sin.  Be  it  accepted  as  a  proof 
that  all  was  not  corrupt  in  this  poor  victim  of  her  own 
frailty,  and  man's  hard  law,  that  Hester  Prynne  yet 


HESTER    AT    HEU    NEFDL^.  101 

struggled  to   believe  that  no   follow-mortal  was  guilty 
like  herself.  »*•   ,3  £-*»'. 

The  vulgar,  who,  in  those  dr^a^y.pldji^esy,  were  .always, 
contributing  a  grotesque  horror  to  what  interested  their 
imaginations,  had  a  story  about  the  scarlet  letter  which 
we  might  readily  work  up  into  a  terrific  legend.  They 
averred,  that  the  symbol  was  not  mere  scarlet  cloth, 
tinged  in  an  earthly  dye-pot,  but  was  red-hot  with  infer 
nal  fire,  and  could  be  seen  glowing  all  alight,  whenever 
Hester  Prynne  walked  abroad  in  the  night-time.  And 
we  must  needs  say,  it  seared  Hester's  bosom  so  deeply, 
that  perhaps  there  was  more  truth  in  the  rumor  than  QV$ 
modern  incredulity  may  be  inclined  to  admit. 


VI. 
PEARL, 

|E  have  as  yet  hardly  spoken  of  the  infant ;  that 
little  creature,  whose  innocent  life  had  sprung, 
by  the  inscrutable  decree  of  Providence,  a  lovely 
and  immortal  flower,  out  of  the  rank  luxuriance  of  a 
guilty  passion.  How  strange  it  seemed  to  the  sad  woman, 
as  she  watched  the  growth,  and  the  beauty  that  became 
every  day  more  brilliant,  and  the  intelligence  that  threw 
its  quivering  sunshine  over  the  tiny  features  of  this  child  ! 
Her  Pearl !  —  For  so  had  Hester  called  her ;  not  as  a 
name  expressive  of  her  aspect,  which  had  nothing  of  the 
calm,  white,  unimpassioned  lustre  that  would  be  indi 
cated  by  the  comparison.  But  she  named  the  infant 
"  Pearl,"  as  being  of  great  price,  —  purchased  with  all 
she  had,  —  her  mother's  only  treasure  !  How  strange, 
indeed  !  Man  had  marked  this  woman's  sin  by  a  scarlet 
letter,  which  had  such  potent  and  disastrous  efficacy  that 
no  human  sympathy  could  reach  her,  save  it  were  sinful 
like  herself.  God,  as  a  direct  consequence  of  the  sin 
which  man  thus  punished,  had  given  her  a  lovely  child, 
whose  place  was  on  that  same  dishonored  bosom,  to  con 
nect  her  parent  forever  with  the  race  and  descent  of  mor 
tals,  and  to  be  finally  a  blessed  soul  in  heaven!  Yet 
these  thoughts  affected  Hester  Prynne  less  with  hope 


PEARL.  103 

than  apprehension.  She  knew  that  her  deed  had  been 
evil ;  she  could  have  no  faith,  therefore,  that  its  result 
would  be  good.  Day  after  day,  she  looked  fearfully  into 
the  child's  expanding  nature,  ever  dreading  to  detect  some 
dark  and  wild  peculiarity,  that  should  correspond  with 
the  guiltiness  to  which  she  owed  her  being, 

Certainly,  there  was  no  physical  defect.  By  its  per 
fect  shape,  its  vigor,  and  its  natural  dexterity  in  the  use 
of  all  its  untried  limbs,  the  infant  was  worthy  to  have 
been  brought  forth  in  Eden ;  worthy  to  have  been  left 
there,  to  be  the  plaything  of  the  angels,  after  the  world's 
first  parents  were  driven  out.  The  child  had  a  native 
grace  which  does  not  invariably  coexist  with  faultless 
beauty ;  its  attire,  however  simple,  always  impressed  the 
beholder  as  if  it  were  the  very  garb  that  precisely  became 
it  best.  But  little  Pearl  was  not  clad  in  rustic  weeds. 
Her  mother,  with  a  morbid  purpose  that  may  be  better 
understood  hereafter,  had  bought  the  richest  tissues  that 
could  be  procured,  and  allowed  her  imaginative  faculty 
its  full  play  in  the  arrangement  and  decoration  of  the 
dresses  which  the  child  wore,  before  the  public  eye.  So 
magnificent  was  the  small  figure,  when  thus  arrayed, 
and  such  was  the  splendor  of  Pearl's  own  proper  beauty, 
shining  through  the  gorgeous  robes  which  might  have 
extinguished  a  paler  loveliness,  that  there  was  an  abso 
lute  circle  of  radiance  around  her,  on  the  darksome  cot 
tage  floor.  And  yet  a  russet  gown,  torn  and  soiled  with 
the  child's  rude  play,  made  a  picture  of  her  just  as  per 
fect.  Pearl's  aspect  was  imbued  with  a  spell  of  infinite 
variety ;  in  this  one  child  there  were  many  children, 
comprehending  the  full  scope  between  the  wild-flower 
prettiness  of  a  peasant-baby,  and  the  pomp,  in  little,  of 
an  infant  princess.  Throughout  all,  however,  there  was 
a  trait  of  passion,  a  certain  depth  of  hue,  which  she 


104         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

never  lost ;  and  if,  in  any  of  her  changes,  she  had  grow* 
fainter  or  paler,  she  would  have  ceased  to  be  herself,  — 
it  would  have  been  no  longer  Pearl ! 

This  outward  mutability  indicated,  and  did  not  more 
than  fairly  express,  the  various  properties  of  her  inner 
life.  Her  nature  appeared  to  possess  depth,  too,  as  well 
as  variety;  but  —  or  else  Hester's  fears  deceived  her  — 
it  lacked  reference  and  adaptation  to  the  world  into 
which  she  was  born.  The  child  could  not  be  made 
amenable  to  rules.  In  giving  her  existence,  a  great  law 
had  been  broken;  and  the  result  was  a  being  whose 
elements  were  perhaps  beautiful  and  brilliant,  but  all  in 
disorder ;  or  with  an  order  peculiar  to  themselves,  amidst 
winch  the  point  of  variety  and  arrangement  was  difficult 
or  impossible  to  be  discovered.  Hester  could  only  ac 
count  for  the  child's  character  —  and  even  then  most 
vaguely  and  imperfectly  —  by  recalling  what  she  herself 
had  been,  during  that  momentous  period  while  Pearl  was 
imbibing  her  soul  from  the  spiritual  world,  and  her  bodily 
frame  from  its  material  of  earth.  The  mother's  impas 
sioned  state  had  been  the  medium  through  which  were 
transmitted  to  the  unborn  infant  the  rays  of  its  moral 
life ;  and,  however  white  and  clear  originally,  they  had 
taken  the  deep  stains  of  crimson  and  gold,  the  fiery 
lustre,  the  black  shadow,  and  the  untempered  light  of 
the  intervening  substance.  Above  all,  the  warfare  of 
Hester's  spirit,  at  that  epoch,  was  perpetuated  in  Pearl. 
She  could  recognize  her  wild,  desperate,  defiant  mood, 
the  flightiness  of  her  temper,  and  even  some  of  the  very 
cloud-shapes  of  gloom  and  despondency  that  had  brooded 
in  her  heart.  They  were  now  illuminated  by  the  morn 
ing  radiance  of  a  young  child's  disposition,  but  later  in 
the  day  of  earthly  existence  might  be  prolific  of  the 
storm  and  whirlwind. 


PEARL.  105 

The  discipline  of  the  family,  in  those  days,  was  of  a 
far  more  rigid  kind  than  now.  The  frown,  the  harsh 
rebuke,  the  frequent  application  of  the  rod,  enjoined  by 
Scriptural  authority,  were  used,  not  merely  in  the  way 
of  punishment  for  actual  offences,  but  as  a  wholesome 
regimen  for  the  growth  and  promotion  of  all  childish 
virtues.  Hester  Prynne,  nevertheless,  the  lonely  mother 
of  this  one  child,  ran  little  risk  of  erring  on  the  side  of 
undue  severity.  Mindful,  however,  of  her  own  errors 
and  misfortunes,  she  early  sought  to  impose  a  tender, 
but  strict  control  over  the  infant  immortality  that  was 
committed  to  her  charge.  But  the  task  was  beyond  her 
skill.  After  testing  both  smiles  and  frowns,  and  proving 
that  neither  mode  of  treatment  possessed  any  calculable 
influence,  Hester  was  ultimately  compelled  to  stand 
aside,  and  permit  the  child  to  be  swayed  by  her  own 
impulses.  Physical  compulsion  or  restraint  was  effect 
ual,  of  course,  while  it  lasted.  As  to  any  other  kind  of 
discipline,  whether  addressed  to  her  mind  or  heart,  little 
Pearl  might  or  might  not  be  within  its  reach,  in  accord 
ance  with  the  caprice  that  ruled  the  moment.  Her 
mother,  while  Pearl  was  yet  an  infant,  grew  acquainted 
with  a  certain  peculiar  look,  that  warned  her  when  it 
would  be  labor  thrown  away  to  insist,  persuade,  or  plead. 
It  was  a  look  so  intelligent,  yet  inexplicable,  so  perverse, 
sometimes  so  malicious,  but  generally  accompanied  by  a 
wild  flow  of  spirits,  that  Hester  could  not  help  question 
ing,  at  such  moments,  whether  Pearl  were  a  human  child. 
She  seemed  rather  an  airy  sprite,  which,  after  playing 
its  fantastic  sports  for  a  little  while  upon  the  cottage 
floor,  would  flit  away  with  a  mocking  smile.  Whenever 
that  look  appeared  in  her  wild,  bright,  deeply  black  eyes, 
it  invested  her  with  a  strange  remoteness  and  intangi 
bility;  it  was  as  if  she  were  hovering  in  the  air  and 
5* 


106         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

might  vanish,  like  a  glimmering  light,  that  conies  we 
know  not  whence,  and  goes  we  know  not  whither.  Be 
holding  it,  Hester  was  constrained  to  rush  towards 
the  child,  —  to  pursue  the  little  elf  in  the  flight  which 
she  invariably  began,  —  to  snatch  her  to  her  bosom, 
with  a  close  pressure  and  earnest  kisses,  —  not  so  much 
from  overflowing  love,  as  to  assure  herself  that  Pearl 
was  flesh  and  blood,  and  not  utterly  delusive.  But 
Pearl's  laugh,  when  she  was  caught,  though  full  of  merri 
ment  and  music,  made  her  mother  more  doubtful  than 
before. 

Heart-smitten  at  this  bewildering  and  baffling  spell, 
that  so  often  came  between  herself  and  her  sole  treasure, 
whom  she  had  bought  so  dear,  and  who  was  all  her 
world,  Hester  sometimes  burst  into  passionate  tears. 
Then,  perhaps,  —  for  there  was  no  foreseeing  how  it 
might  affect  her,  —  Pearl  would  frown,  and  clench  her 
little  fist,  and  harden  her  small  features  into  a  stern,  un- 
sympathizing  look  of  discontent.  Not  seldom,  she  would 
laugh  anew,  and  louder  than  before,  like  a  thing  incapa 
ble  and  unintelligent  of  human  sorrow.  Or  —  but  this 
more  rarely  happened  —  she  would  be  convulsed  with  a 
rage  of  grief,  and  sob  out  her  love  for  her  mother,  in 
broken  words,  and  seem  intent  on  proving  that  she  had 
a  heart,  by  breaking  it.  Yet  Hester  was  hardly  safe  in 
confiding  herself  to  that  gusty  tenderness ;  it  passed,  as 
suddenly  as  it  came.  Brooding  over  all  these  matters, 
the  mother  felt  like  one  who  has  evoked  a  spirit,  but,  by 
some  irregularity  in  the  process  of  conjuration,  has  failed 
to  win  the  master-word  that  should  control  this  new  and 
incomprehensible  intelligence.  Her  only  real  comfort 
was  when  the  child  lay  in  the  placidity  of  sleep.  Then 
she  was  sure  of  her,  and  tasted  hours  of  quiet,  sad, 
delicious  happiness;  until  —  perhaps  with  that  perverse 


PEARL.  107 

expression  glimmering  from  beneath  her  opening  lids  — 
little  Pearl  awoke ! 

How  soon  —  with  what  strange  rapidity,  indeed !  — 
did  Pearl  arrive  at  an  age  that  was  capable  of  social 
intercourse,  beyond  the  mother's  ever-ready  smile  and 
nonsense-words !  And  then  what  a  happiness  would  it 
have  been,  could  Hester  Prynne  have  heard  her  clear, 
bird-like  voice  mingling  with  the  uproar  of  other  childish 
voices,  and  have  distinguished  and  unravelled  her  own 
darling's  tones,  amid  all  the  entangled  outcry  of  a  group 
of  sportive  children !  But  this  could  never  be.  Pearl 
was  a  born  outcast  of  the  infantile  world.  An  imp  of 
evil,  emblem  and  product  of  sin,  she  had  no  right  among 
christened  infants.  Nothing  was  more  remarkable  than 
the  instinct,  as  it  seemed,  with  which  the  child  compre 
hended  her  loneliness;  the  destiny  that  had  drawn  an 
inviolable  circle  round  about  her ;  the  whole  peculiarity, 
in  short,  of  her  position  in  respect  to  other  children. 
Never,  since  her  release  from  prison,  had  Hester  met  the 
public  gaze  without  her.  In  all  her  walks  about  the 
town,  Pearl,  too,  was  there;  first  as  the  babe  in  arms, 
and  afterwards  as  the  little  girl,  small  companion  of  her 
mother,  holding  a  forefinger  with  her  whole  grasp,  and 
tripping  along  at  the  rate  of  three  or  four  footsteps  to  one 
of  Hester's.  She  saw  the  children  of  the  settlement,  on 
the  grassy  margin  of  the  street,  or  at  the  domestic  thresh 
olds,  disporting  themselves  in  such  grim  fashion  as  the 
Puritanic  nurture  would  permit;  playing  at  going  to 
church,  perchance ;  or  at  scourging  Quakers ;  or  taking 
scalps  in  a  sham-fight  with  the  Indians ;  or  scaring  one 
another  with  freaks  of  imitative  witchcraft.  Pearl  saw, 
and  gazed  intently,  but  never  sought  to  make  acquaintance. 
If  spoken  to,  she  would  not  speak  again.  If  the  children 
gathered  about  her,  as  they  sometimes  did,  Pearl  would 


108  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

grow  positively  terrible  in  her  puny  wrath,  snatching  up 
stones  to  fling  at  them,  with  shrill,  incoherent  exclama 
tions,  that  made  her  mother  tremble,  because  they  had  so 
much  the  sound  of  a  witch's  anathemas  in  some  unknown 
tongue. 

The  truth  was,  that  the  little  Puritans,  being  of  the 
most  intolerant  brood  that  ever  lived,  had  got  a  vague 
idea  of  something  outlandish,  unearthly,  or  at  variance 
with  ordinary  fashions,  in  the  mother  and  child;  and 
therefore  scorned  them  in  their  hearts,  and  not  unfre- 
quently  reviled  them  with  their  tongues.  Pearl  felt  the 
sentiment,  and  requited  it  with  the  bitterest  hatred  that 
can  be  supposed  to  rankle  in  a  childish  bosom.  These 
outbreaks  of  a  fierce  temper  had  a  kind  of  value,  and 
even  comfort,  for  her  mother ;  because  there  was  at  least 
an  intelligible  earnestness  in  the  mood,  instead  of  the 
fitful  caprice  that  so  often  thwarted  her  in  the  child's 
manifestations.  It  appalled  her,  nevertheless,  to  discern 
here,  again,  a  shadowy  reflection  of  the  evil  that  had 
existed  in  herself.  All  this  enmity  and  passion  had 
Pearl  inherited,  by  inalienable  right,  out  of  Hester's 
heart.  Mother  and  daughter  stood  together  in  the  same 
circle  of  seclusion  from  human  society ;  and  in  the  nature 
of  the  child  seemed  to  be  perpetuated  those  unquiet  ele 
ments  that  had  distracted  Hester  Prynne  before  Pearl's 
birth,  but  had  since  begun  to  be  soothed  away  by  the 
softening  influences  of  maternity. 

At  home,  within  and  around  her  mother's  cottage, 
Pearl  wanted  not  a  wide  and  various  circle  of  acquaint 
ance.  The  spell  of  life  went  forth  from  her  ever-creative 
spirit,  and  communicated  itself  to  a  thousand  objects,  as 
a  torch  kindles  a  flame  wherever  it  may  be  applied.  The 
unlikeliest  materials  —  a  stick,  a  bunch  of  rags,  a  flower 
—  were  the  puppets  of  Pearl's  witchcraft,  and,  with- 


PEARL.  109 

out  undergoing  any  outward  change,  became  spiritually 
adapted  to  whatever  drama  occupied  the  stage  of  her 
inner  world.  Her  one  baby-voice  served  a  multitude  of 
imaginary  personages,  old  and  young,  to  talk  withal. 
The  pine-trees,  aged,  black  and  solemn,  and  flinging 
groans  and  other  melancholy  utterances  on  the  breeze, 
needed  little  transformation  to  figure  as  Puritan  elders ; 
the  ugliest  weeds  of  the  garden  were  their  children, 
whom  Pearl  smote  down  and  uprooted,  most  unmerci 
fully.  It  was  wonderful,  the  vast  variety  of  forms  into 
which  she  threw  her  intellect,  with  no  continuity,  indeed, 
but  darting  up  and  dancing,  always  in  a  state  of  preter 
natural  activity,  —  soon  sinking  down,  as  if  exhausted 
by  so  rapid  and  feverish  a  tide  of  life,  —  and  succeeded 
by  other  shapes  of  a  similar  wild  energy.  It  was  like 
nothing  so  much  as  the  phantasmagoric  play  of  the 
northern  lights.  In  the  mere  exercise  of  the  fancy,  how 
ever,  and  the  sportiveness  of  a  growing  mind,  there  might 
be  little  more  than  was  observable  in  other  children  of 
bright  faculties ;  except  as  Pearl,  in  the  dearth  of  human 
playmates,  was  thrown  more  upon  the  visionary  throng 
which  she  created.  The  singularity  lay  in  the  hostile 
feelings  with  which  the  child  regarded  all  these  offspring 
of  her  own  heart  and  mind.  She  never  created  a  friend, 
but  seemed  always  to  be  sowing  broadcast  the  dragon's 
teeth,  whence  sprung  a  harvest  of  armed  enemies,  against 
whom  she  rushed  to  battle.  It  was  inexpressibly  sad  — 
then  what  depth  of  sorrow  to  a  mother,  who  felt  in  her 
own  heart  the  cause  !  —  to  observe,  in  one  so  young,  this 
constant  recognition  of  an  adverse  world,  and  so  fierce  a 
training  of  the  energies  that  were  to  make  good  her 
cause,  in  the  contest  that  must  ensue. 

Gazing  at  Pearl,  Hester  Prynne   often  dropped  her 
work  upon  her  knees,  and  cried  out  with  an  agony  which 


110  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

she  would  fain  have  hidden,  but  which  made  utterance 
for  itself,  betwixt  speech  and  a  groan,  — "  0  Father  in 
Heaven,  —  if  Thou  art  still  my  Father,  —  what  is  this 
being  which  I  have  brought  into  the  world  ! "  And 
Pearl,  overhearing  the  ejaculation,  or  aware,  through 
some  more  subtile  channel,  of  those  throbs  of  anguish, 
would  turn  her  vivid  and  beautiful  little  face  upon  her 
mother,  smile  with  sprite-like '  intelligence,  and  resume 
her  play. 

One  peculiarity  of  the  child's  deportment  remains  yet 
to  be  told.  The  very  first  thing  which  she  had  noticed 
in  her  life  was  —  what  ?  —  not  the  mother's  smile,  re 
sponding  to  it,  as  other  babies  do,  by  that  faint,  embryo 
smile  of  the  little  mouth,  remembered  so  doubtfully  after 
wards,  and  with  such  fond  discussion  whether  it  were 
mdeed  a  smile.  By  no  means  !  But  that  first  object 
of  which  Pearl  seemed  to  become  aware  was  —  shall  we 
say  it  ?  —  the  scarlet  letter  on  Hester's  bosom  !  One 
day,  as  her  mother  stooped  over  the  cradle,  the  infant's 
eyes  had  been  caught  by  the  glimmering  of  the  gold 
embroidery  about  the  letter ;  and,  putting  up  her  little 
hand,  she  grasped  at  it,  smiling,  not  doubtfully,  but  with 
a  decided  gleam,  that  gave  her  face  the  look  of  a  much 
older  child.  Then,  gasping  for  breath,  did  Hester  Prynne 
clutch  the  fatal  token,  instinctively  endeavoring  to  tear 
it  away ;  so  infinite  was  the  torture  inflicted  by  the  in 
telligent  touch  of  Pearl's  baby-hand.  Again,  as  if  her 
mother's  agonized  gesture  were  meant  only  to  make 
sport  for  her,  did  little  Pearl  look  into  her  eyes,  and 
smile !  From  that  epoch,  except  when  the  child  was 
asleep,  Hester  had  never  felt  a  moment's  safety ;  not  a 
moment's  calm  enjoyment  of  her.  Weeks,  it  is  true, 
would  sometimes  elapse,  during  which  Pearl's  gaze  might 
never  once  be  fixed  upon  the  scarlet  letter ;  but  then, 


PEARL.  Ill 

again,  it  would  come  at  unawares,  like  the  stroke  of  sud 
den  death,  and  always  with  that  peculiar  smile,  and  odd 
expression  of  the  eyes. 

Once,  this  freakish,  elvish  cast  came  into  the  child's 
eyes,  while  Hester  was  looking  at  her  own  image*  in 
them,  as  mothers  are  fond  of  doing ;  and,  suddenly,  — 
for  women  in  solitude,  and  with  troubled  hearts,  are 
pestered  with  unaccountable  delusions,  —  she  fancied 
that  she  beheld,  not  her  own  miniature  portrait,  but 
another  face,  in  the  small  black  mirror  of  Pearl's  eye. 
It  was  a  face,  fiend-like,  full  of  smiling  malice,  yet  bear 
ing  the  semblance  of  features  that  she  had  known  full 
well,  though  seldom  with  a  smile,  and  never  with  malice 
in  them.  It  was  as  if  an  evil  spirit  possessed  the  child, 
and  had  just  then  peeped  forth  in  mockery.  Many  a 
time  afterwards  had  Hester  been  tortured,  though  less 
vividly,  by  the  same  illusion. 

In  the  afternoon  of  a  certain  summer's  day,  after 
Pearl  grew  big  enough  to  run  about,  she  amused  herself 
with  gathering  handfuls  of  wild-flowers,  and  flinging 
them,  one  by  one,  at  her  mother's  bosom ;  dancing  up 
and  down,  like  a  little  elf,  whenever  she  hit  the  scarlet 
letter.  Hester's  first  motion  had  been  to  cover  her 
bosom  with  her  clasped  hands.  But,  whether  from  pride 
or  resignation,  or  a  feeling  that  her  penance  might  best 
be  wrought  out  by  this  unutterable  pain,  she  resisted  the 
impulse,  and  sat  erect,  pale  as  death,  looking  sadly  into 
little  Pearl's  wild  eyes.  Still  came  the  battery  of  flowers, 
almost  invariably  hitting  the  mark,  and  covering  the 
mother's  breast  with  hurts  for  which  she  could  find  no 
balm  in  this  world,  nor  knew  how  to  seek  it  in  another. 
At  last,  her  shot  being  all  expended,  the  child  stood  still 
and  gazed  at  Hester,  with  that  little,  laughing  image  of 
a  fiend  peeping  out  —  or,  whether  it  peeped  or  no,  her 


112  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

mother  so  imagined  it  —  from  the  unsearchable  abyss  of 
her  black  eyes. 

"  Child,  what  art  thou  ?  "  cried  the  mother. 

"  0,  I  am  your  little  Pearl !  "  answered  the  child. 

But,  while  she  said  it,  Pearl  laughed,  and  began  to 
dance  up  and  down,  with  the  humorsome  gesticulation 
of  a  little  imp,  whose  next  freak  might  be  to  fly  up  the 
chimney. 

"  Art  thou  my  child,  in  very  truth  ?  "  asked  Hester. 

Nor  did  she  put  the  question  altogether  idly,  but,  for 
the  moment,  with  a  portion  of  genuine  earnestness ;  for, 
such  was  Pearl's  wonderful  intelligence,  that  her  mother 
half  doubted  whether  she  were  not  acquainted  with  the 
secret  spell  of  her  existence,  and  might  not  now  reveal 
herself. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  little  Pearl !  "  repeated  the  child,  contin 
uing  her  antics. 

"  Thou  art  not  my  child  !  Thou  art  no  Pearl  of  mine ! " 
said  the  mother,  half  playfully ;  for  it  was  often  the  case 
that  a  sportive  impulse  came  over  her,  in  the  midst  of 
her  deepest  suffering.  "  Tell  me,  then,  what  thou  art, 
and  who  sent  thee  hither." 

"  Tell  me,  mother !  "  said  the  child,  seriously,  coming 
up  to  Hester,  and  pressing  herself  close  to  her  knees. 
"  Do  thou  tell  me !  " 

"  Thy  Heavenly  Father  sent  thee !  "  answered  Hester 
Prynne. 

But  she  said  it  with  a  hesitation  that  did  not  escape 
the  acuteness  of  the  child.  Whether  moved  only  by  her 
ordinary  freakishness,  or  because  an  evil  spirit  prompted 
her,  she  put  up  her  small  forefinger,  and  touched  the 
scarlet  letter. 

"  He  did  not  send  me  !  "  cried  she,  positively.  "  I 
have  no  Heavenly  Father !  " 


PEARL.  113 

"Hush,  Pearl,  hush!  Thou  must  not  talk  so!"  an 
swered  the  mother,  suppressing  a  groan.  "  He  sent  us 
all  into  this  world.  He  sent  even  me,  thy  mother.  Then, 
much  more,  thee  !  Or,  if  not,  thou  strange  and  elfish 
child,  whence  didst  thou  come  ?  " 

"  Tell  me !  Tell  me ! "  repeated  Pearl,  no  longer 
seriously,  but  laughing,  and  capering  about  the  floor. 
"It  is  thou  that  must  tell  me !  " 

But  Hester  could  not  resolve  the  query,  being  herself 
in  a  dismal  labyrinth  of  doubt.  She  remembered  —  be 
twixt  a  smile  and  a  shudder  —  the  talk  of  the  neighbor 
ing  townspeople ;  who,  seeking  vainly  elsewhere  for  the 
child's  paternity,  and  observing  some  of  her  odd  attri 
butes,  had  given  out  that  poor  little  Pearl  was  a  demon 
offspring;  such  as,  ever  since  old  Catholic  times,  had 
occasionally  been  seen  on  earth,  through  the  agency  of 
their  mother's  sin,  and  to  promote  some  foul  and  wicked 
purpose.  Luther,  according  to  the  scandal  of  his  monk 
ish  enemies,  was  a  brat  of  that  hellish  breed ;  nor  was 
Pearl  the  only  child  to  whom  this  inauspicious  origin 
was  assigned,  among  the  New  England  Puritans. 


VII. 
THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL. 

|ESTER  PRYNNE  went,  one  day,  to  the  man- 
sion  of  Governor  Bellingham,  with  a  pair  of 
gloves,  which  she  had  fringed  and  embroidered 
to  his  order,  and  which  were  to  be  worn  on  some  great 
occasion  of  state ;  for,  though  the  chances  of  a  popular 
election  had  caused  this  former  ruler  to  descend  a  step 
or  two  from  the  highest  rank,  he  still  held  an  honorable 
and  influential  place  among  the  colonial  magistracy. 

Another  and  far  more  important  reason  than  the  deliv 
ery  of  a  pair  of  embroidered  gloves  impelled  Hester,  at 
this  time,  to  seek  an  interview  with  a  personage  of  so 
much  power  and  activity  in  the  affairs  of  the  settlement. 
It  had  reached  her  ears,  that  there  was  a  design  on  the 
part  of  some  of  the  leading  inhabitants,  cherishing  the 
more  rigid  order  of  principles  in  religion  and  government, 
to  deprive  her  of  her  child.  On  the  supposition  that 
Pearl,  as  already  hinted,  was  of  demon  origin,  these  good 
people  not  unreasonably  argued  that  a  Christian  interest 
in  the  mother's  soul  required  them  to  remove  such  a 
stumbling-block  from  her  path.  If  the  child,  on  the 
other  hand,  were  really  capable  of  moral  and  religious 
growth,  and  possessed  the  elements  of  ultimate  salvation, 


THE    GOVERNOR'S    HALL.  115 

then,  surely,  it  would  enjoy  all  the  fairer  prospect  of 
these  advantages,  by  being  transferred  to  wiser  and  better 
guardianship  than  Hester  Prynne's.  Among  those  who 
promoted  the  design,  Governor  Bellingham  was  said  to 
be  one  of  the  most  busy.  It  may  appear  singular,  and 
indeed,  not  a  little  ludicrous,  that  an  affair  of  this  kind, 
which,  in  later  days,  would  have  been  referred  to  no 
higher  jurisdiction  than  that  of  the  selectmen  of  the 
town,  should  then  have  been  a  question  publicly  dis-_ 
cussed,  and  on  which  statesmen  of  eminence  took  sides. 
At  that  epoch  of  pristine  simplicity,  however,  matters  of 
even  slighter  public  interest,  and  of  far  less  intrinsic 
weight,  than  the  welfare  of  Hester  and  her  child,  were 
strangely  mixed  up  with  the*  deliberations  of  legislators 
and  acts  of  state.  The  period  was  'lardly,  if  at  all,  earlier 
than  that  of  our  story,  when  a  lispute  concerning  the 
right  of  property  in  a  pig,  not  only  caused  a  fierce  and 
bitter  contest  in  the  legislative  body  of  the  colony,  but 
resulted  in  an  important  modification  of  the  framework 
itself  of  the  legislature. 

Eull  of  concern,  therefore,  —  but  so  conscious  of  her 
own  right  that  it  seemed  scarcely  an  unequal  match 
between  the  public,  on  the  one  side,  and  a  lonely  woman, 
backed  by  the  sympathies  of  nature,  on  the  other, — 
Hester  Prynne  set  forth  from  her  solitary  cottage.  Lit 
tle  Pearl,  of  course,  was  her  companion.  She  was  now 
of  an  age  to  run  lightly  along  by  her  mother's  side,  and, 
constantly  in  motion,  from  morn  till  sunset,  could  have 
accomplished  a  much  longer  journey  than  that  before 
her.  Often,  nevertheless,  more  from  caprice  than  ne 
cessity,  she  demanded  to  be  taken  up  in  arms ;  but  was 
soon  as  imperious  to  be  set  down  again,  and  frisked 
onward  before  Hester  on  the  grassy  pathway,  with  many 
a  harmless  trip  and  tumble.  We  have  spoken  of  Pearl's 


116         THE  SCARLET  LETTEE. 

rich  and  luxuriant  beauty ;  a  beauty  that  shone  with 
deep  and  vivid  tints ;  a  bright  complexion,  eyes  possess 
ing  intensity  both  of  depth  and  glow,  and  hair  already 
of  a  deep,  glossy  brown,  and  which,  in  after  years,  would 
be  nearly  akin  to  black.  There  was  fire  in  her  and 
throughout  her ;  she  seemed  the  unpremeditated  offshoot 
of  a  passionate  moment.  Her  mother,  in  contriving  the 
child's  garb,  had  allowed  the  gorgeous  tendencies  of  her 
imagination  their  full  play;  arraying  her  in  a  crimson 
velvet  tunic,  of  a  peculiar  cut,  abundantly  embroidered 
with  fantasies  and  nourishes  of  gold-thread.  So  much 
strength  of  coloring,  which  must  have  given  a  wan  and 
pallid  aspect  to  cheeks  of  a  fainter  bloom,  was  admirably 
adapted  to  Pearl's  beauty,  and  made  her  the  very  bright 
est  little  jet  of  flame  that  ever  danced  upon  the  earth. 

But  it  was  a  remarkable  attribute  of  this  garb,  and, 
indeed,  of  the  child's  whole  appearance,  that  it  irresist 
ibly  and  inevitably  reminded  the  beholder  of  the  token 
which  Hester  Prynne  was  doomed  to  wear  upon  her 
bosom.  It  was  the  scarlet  letter  in  another  form ;  the 
scarlet  letter  endowed  with  life  !  The  mother  herself — 
as  if  the  red  ignominy  were  so  deeply  scorched  into  her 
brain  that  all  her  conceptions  assumed  its  form  —  had 
carefully  wrought  out  the  similitude ;  lavishing  many 
hours  of  morbid  ingenuity,  to  create  an  analogy  between 
the  object  of  her  affection  and  the  emblem  of  her  guilt 
and  torture.  But,  in  truth,  Pearl  was  the  one,  as  well 
as  the  other ;  and  only  in  consequence  of  that  identity 
had  Hester  contrived  so  perfectly  to  represent  the  scarlet 
letter  in  her  appearance. 

As  the  two  wayfarers  came  within  the  precincts  of  the 
town,  the  children  of  the  Puritans  looked  up  from  their 
play,  —  or  what  passed  for  play  with  those  sombre  little 
urchins,  —  and  spake  gravely  one  to  an  other :  — 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL.  117 

"Behold,  verily,  there  is  the  woman  of  the  scarlet 
letter ;  and,  of  a  truth,  moreover,  there  is  the  likeness 
of  the  scarlet  letter  running  along  by  her  side  !  Come, 
therefore,  and  let  us  fling  mud  at  them  !  " 

But  Pearl,  who  was  a  dauntless  child,  after  frowning, 
stamping  her  foot,  and  shaking  her  little  hand  with  a 
variety  of  threatening  gestures,  suddenly  made  a  rush 
at  the  knot  of  her  enemies,  and  put  them  all  to  flight. 
She  resembled,  in  her  fierce  pursuit  of  them,  an  infant 
pestilence,  —  the  scarlet  fever,  or  some  such  half-fledged 
angel  of  judgment,  —  whose  mission  was  to  punish  the 
sins  of  the  rising  generation.  She  screamed  and  shouted, 
too,  with  a  terrific  volume  of  sound,  which,  doubtless, 
caused  the  hearts  of  the  fugitives  to  quake  within  them. 
The  victory  accomplished,  Pearl  returned  quietly  to  her 
mother,  and  looked  up,  smiling,  into  her  face. 

Without  further  adventure,  they  reached  the  dwelling 
of  Governor  Bellingham.  This  was  a  large  wooden 
house,  built  in  a  fashion  of  which  there  are  specimens 
still  extant  in  the  streets  of  our  older  towns ;  now  moss- 
grown,  crumbling  to  decay,  and  melancholy  at  heart 
with  the  many  sorrowful  or  joyful  occurrences,  remem 
bered  or  forgotten,  that  have  happened,  and  passed 
away,  within  their  dusky  chambers.  Then,  however, 
there  was  the  freshness  of  the  passing  year  on  its  exte 
rior,  and  the  cheerfulness,  gleaming  forth  from  the  sunny 
windows,  of  a  human  habitation^  into  which  death  had 
never  entered.  It  had,  indeed,  a  very  cheery  aspect; 
the  walls  being  overspread  with  a  kind  of  stucco,  in 
which  fragments  of  broken  glass  were  plentifully  inter 
mixed;  so  that,  when  the  sunshine  fell  aslant-wise  over 
the  front  of  the  edifice,  it  glittered  and  sparkled  as  if 
diamonds  had  been  flung  against  it  by  the  double  hand 
ful.  The  brilliancy  might  have  befitted  Aladdin's  palace, 


118         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

rather  than  the  mansion  of  a  grave  old  Puritan  ruler.  It 
was  further  decorated  with  strange  and  seemingly  caba 
listic  figures  and  diagrams,  suitable  to  the  quaint  taste 
of  the  age,  which  had  been  drawn  in  the  stucco  when 
newly  laid  on,  and  had  now  grown  hard  and  durable,  for 
the  admiration  of  after  times. 

Pearl,  looking  at  this  bright  wonder  of  a  house,  began 
to  caper  and  dance,  and  imperatively  required  that  the 
whole  breadth  of  sunshine  should  be  stripped  off  its 
front,  and  given  her  to  play  with. 

"No,  my  little  Pearl!"  said  her  mother.  "Thou 
must  gather  thine  own  sunshine.  I  have  none  to  give 
thee ! " 

They  approached  the  door ;  which  was  of  an  arched 
form,  and  flanked  on  each  side  by  a  narrow  tower  or 
projection  of  the  edifice,  in  both  of  which  were  lattice- 
windows,  with  wooden  shutters  to  close  over  them  at 
need.  Lifting  the  iron  hammer  that  hung  at  the  portal, 
Hester  Prynne  gave  a  summons,  which  was  answered 
by  one  of  the  Governor's  bond-servants ;  a  free-born 
Englishman,  but  now  a  seven  years'  slave.  During 
that  term  he  was  to  be  the  property  of  his  master,  and 
as  much  a  commodity  of  bargain  and  sale  as  an  ox,  or 
a  joint-stool.  The  serf  wore  the  blue  coat,  which  was 
the  customary  garb  of  serving-men  of  that  period,  and 
long  before,  in  the  old  hereditary  halls  of  England. 

"  Is  the  worshipful  Governor  Bellingham  within  ? " 
inquired  Hester. 

"  Yea,  forsooth,"  replied  the  bond-servant,  staring  with 
wide-open  eyes  at  the  scarlet  letter,  which,  being  a  new 
comer  in  the  country,  he  had  never  before  seen.  "  Yea, 
his  honorable  worship  is  within.  But  he  hath  a  godly 
minister  or  two  with  him,  and  likewise  a  leech.  Ye  may 
not  see  his  worship  now." 


THE    GOVERNOR'S    HALL.  119 

"  Nevertheless,  I  will  enter/'  answered  Hester  Prynne, 
and  the  bond-servant,  perhaps  judging  from  the  decision 
of  her  air,  and  the  glittering  symbol  in  her  bosom,  that 
she  was  a  great  lady  in  the  land,  offered  no  opposition. 

So  the  mother  and  little  Pearl  were  admitted  into  the 
hall  of  entrance.  With  many  variations,  suggested  by 
the  nature  of  his  building-materials,  diversity  of  climate, 
and  a  different  mode  of  social  life,  Governor  Bellingham 
had  planned  his  new  habitation  after  the  residences  of 
gentlemen  of  fair  estate  in  bis  native  land.  Here,  then, 
was  a  wide  and  reasonably  lofty  hall,  extending  through 
the  whole  depth  of  the  house,  and  forming  a  medium  of 
general  communication,  more  or  less  directly,  with  all  the 
other  apartments.  At  one  extremity,  this  spacious  room 
was  lighted  by  the  windows  of  the  two  towers,  which 
formed  a  small  recess  on  either  side  of  the  portal.  At 
the  other  end,  though  partly  muffled  by  a  curtain,  it  was 
more  powerfully  illuminated  by  one  of  those  embowed 
hall- windows  which  we  read  of  in  old  books,  and  which 
was  provided  with  a  deep  and  cushioned  seat.  Here,  on 
the  cushion,  lay  a  folio  tome,  probably  of  the  Chronicles 
of  England,  or  other  such  substantial  literature;  even 
as,  in  our  own  days,  we  scatter  gilded  volumes  on  the 
centre-table,  to  be  turned  over  by  the  casual  guest.  The 
furniture  of  the  hall  consisted  of  some  ponderous  chairs, 
the  backs  of  which  were  elaborately  carved  with  wreaths 
of  oaken  flowers  ;  and  likewise  a  table  in  the  same  taste  ; 
the  whole  being  of  the  Elizabethan  age,  or  perhaps  earlier, 
and  heirlooms,  transferred  hither  from  the  Governor's 
paternal  home.  On  the  table  —  in  token  that  the  sen 
timent  of  old  English  hospitality  had  not  been  left 
behind  —  stood  a  large  pewter  tankard,  at  the  bottom  of 
which,  had  Hester  or  Pearl  peeped  into  it,  they  might 
have  seen  the  frothy  remnant  of  a  ^cent  draught  of  ale. 


120        THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

On  the  wall  hung  a  row  of  portraits,  representing  the 
forefathers  of  the  Belliugham  lineage,  some  with  armor 
on  their  breasts,  and  others  with  stately  ruffs  and  robes 
of  peace.  All  were  characterized  by  the  sternness  and 
severity  which  old  portraits  so  invariably  put  on ;  as  if 
they  were  the  ghosts,  rather  than  the  pictures,  of  de 
parted  worthies,  and  were  gazing  with  harsh  and  intol 
erant  criticism  at  the  pursuits  and  enjoyments  of  living 
men. 

At  about  the  centre  of  the  oaken  panels,  that  lined  the 
hall,  was  suspended  a  suit  of  mail,  not,  like  the  pictures, 
an  ancestral  relic,  but  of  the  most  modern  date ;  for  it 
had  been  manufactured  by  a  skilful  armorer  in  London, 
the  same  year  in  which  Governor  Bellingham  came  over 
to  New  England.  There  was  a  steel  head-piece,  a  cuirass, 
a  gorget,  and  greaves,  with  a  pair  of  gauntlets  and  a 
sword  hanging  beneath;  all,  and  especially  the  helmet 
and  breastplate,  so  highly  burnished  as  to  glow  with 
white  radiance,  and  scatter  an  illumination  everywhere 
about  upon  the  floor.  This  bright  panoply  was  not 
meant  for  mere  idle  show,  but  had  been  worn  by  the 
Governor  on  many  a  solemn  muster  and  training  field, 
and  had  glittered,  moreover,  at  the  head  of  a  regiment 
in  the  Pequod  war.  Tor,  though  bred  a  lawyer,  and  ac 
customed  to  speak  of  Bacon,  Coke,  Noye,  and  Finch 
as  his  professional  associates,  the  exigencies  of  this  new 
country  had  transformed  Governor  Bellingham  into  a 
soldier^  as  well  as  a  statesman  and  ruler. 

Little  Pearl  —  who  was  as  greatly  pleased  with  the 
gleaming  armor  as  she  had  been  with  the  glittering  fron 
tispiece  of  the  house  —  spent  some  time  looking  into  the 
polished  mirror  of  the  breastplate. 

"Mother,"  cried  she,  "I  see  you  here.  Look! 
Look ! " 


THE    GOVERNOR'S    HALL.  121 

Hester  looked,  by  way  of  humoring  the  child;  and 
she  saw  that,  owing  to  the  peculiar  effect  of  this  convex 
mirror,  the  scarlet  letter  was  represented  in  exaggerated 
and  gigantic  proportions,  so  as  to  be  greatly  the  most 
prominent  feature  of  her  appearance.  In  truth,  she 
seemed  absolutely  hidden  behind  it.  Pearl  pointed  up 
ward,  also,  at  a  similar  picture  in  the  head-piece ; 
smiling  at  her  mother,  with  the  elfish  intelligence  that 
was  so  familiar  an  expression  on  her  small  physiognomy. 
That  look  of  naughty  merriment  was  likewise  reflected 
in  the  mirror,  with  so  much  breadth  and  intensity  of 
effect,  that  it  made  Hester  Prynne  feel  as  if  it  could  not 
be  the  image  of  her  own  child,  but  of  an  imp  who  was 
seeking  to  mould  itself  into  Pearl's  shape. 

"Come  along,  Pearl,"  said  she,  drawing  her  away. 
"  Come  and  look  into  this  fair  garden.  It  may  be  we 
shall  see  flowers  there ;  more  beautiful  ones  than  we  find 
in  the  woods." 

Pearl,  accordingly,  ran  to  the  bow-window,  at  the  far 
ther  end  of  the  hall,  and  looked  along  the  vista  of  a 
garden-walk,  carpeted  with  closely  shaven  grass,  and 
bordered  with  some  rude  and  immature  attempt  at  shrub 
bery.  But  the  proprietor  appeared  already  to  have  re 
linquished,  as  hopeless,  the  effort  to  perpetuate  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  in  a  hard  soil  and  amid  the  close 
struggle  for  subsistence,  the  native  English  taste  for 
ornamental  gardening.  Cabbages  grew  in  plain  sight; 
and  a  pumpkin-vine,  rooted  at  some  distance,  had  run 
across  the  intervening  space,  and  deposited  one  of  its 
gigantic  products  directly  beneath  the  hall-window ;  as 
if  to  warn  the  Governor  that  this  great  lump  of  vegetable 
gold  was  as  rich  an  ornament  as  New  England  earth 
would  offer  him.  There  were  a  few  rose-bushes,  how 
ever,  and  a  number  of  apple-trees,  probably  the  descend- 


122         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

ants  of  those  planted  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Blackstone, 
the  first  settler  of  the  peninsula ;  that  half-mythological 
personage,  who  rides  through  our  early  annals,  seated  on 
the  back  of  a  bull. 

Pearl,  seeing  the  rose-bushes,  began  to  cry  for  a  red 
rose,  and  would  not  be  pacified. 

"  Hush,  child,  hush !  "  said  her  mother,  earnestly. 
"  Do  not  cry,  dear  little  Pearl !  I  hear  voices  in  the 
garden.  The  Governor  is  coming,  and  gentlemen  along 
with  him !  " 

In  fact,  adown  the  vista  of  the  garden  avenue  a  num 
ber  of  persons  were  seen  approaching  towards  the  house. 
Pearl,  in  utter  scorn  of  her  mother's  attempt  to  quiet 
her,  gave  an  eldritch  scream,  and  then  became  silent ;  not 
from  any  notion  of  obedience,  but  because  the  quick  and 
mobile  curiosity  of  her  disposition  was  excited  by  the 
appearance  of  these  new  personages. 


VIII. 
THE  ELF-CHILD  AND  THE   MINISTER. 

OYERNOR  BELLINGHAM,  in  a  loose  gown 
and  easy  cap,  —  such  as  elderly  gentlemen 
loved  to  endue  themselves  with,  in  their  do 
mestic  privacy,  —  walked  foremost,  and  appeared  to  be 
showing  off  his  estate,  and  expatiating  on  his  projected 
improvements.  The  wide  circumference  of  an  elaborate 
ruff,  beneath  his  gray  beard,  in  the  antiquated  fashion  of 
King  James's  reign,  caused  his  head  to  look  not  a  little 
like  that  of  John  the  Baptist  in  a  charger.  The  impres 
sion  made  by  his  aspect,  so  rigid  and  severe,  and  frost 
bitten  with  more  than  autumnal  age,  was  hardly  in  keep 
ing  with  the  appliances  of  worldly  enjoyment  wherewith 
he  had  evidently  done  his  utmost  to  surround  himself. 
But  it  is  an  error  to  suppose  that  our  grave  forefathers 
—  though  accustomed  to  speak  and  think  of  human  exist 
ence  as  a  state  merely  of  trial  and  warfare,  and  though 
unfeignedly  prepared  to  sacrifice  goods  and  life  at  the 
behest  of  duty  —  made  it  a  matter  of  conscience  to  reject 
such  means  of  comfort,  or  even  luxury,  as  ky  fairly 
within  their  grasp.  This  creed  was  never  taught,  for 
instance,  by  the  venerable  pastor,  John  Wilson,  whose 
beard,  white  as  a  snow-drift,  was  seen  over  Governor 
Bellingham's  shoulder ;  while  its  wearer  suggested  that 


124  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

pears  and  peaches  might  yet  be  naturalized  in  the  New 
England  climate,  and  that  purple  grapes  might  possibly 
be  compelled  to  flourish,  against  the  sunny  garden-wall. 
The  old  clergyman,  nurtured  at  the  rich  bosom  of  the 
English  Church,  had  a  long-established  and  legitimate 
taste  for  all  good  and  comfortable  things ;  and  however 
stern  he  might  show  himself  in  the  pulpit,  or  in  his  pub 
lic  reproof  of  such  transgressions  as  that  of  Hester 
Prynne,  still,  the  genial  benevolence  of  his  private  life 
had  won  him  warmer  affection  than  was  accorded  to  any 
of  his  professional  contemporaries. 

Behind  the  Governor  and  Mr.  Wilson  came  two  other 
guests  :  one  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  whom 
the  reader  may  remember  as  having  taken  a  brief  and 
reluctant  part  in  the  scene  of  Hester  Prynne 's  disgrace ; 
and,  in  close  companionship  with  him,  old  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth,  a  person  of  great  skill  in  physic,  who,  for  two 
or  three  years  past,  had  been  settled  in  the  town.  It 
was  understood  that  this  learned  man  was  the  physician 
as  well  as  friend  of  the  young  minister,  whose  health 
had  severely  suffered,  of  late,  by  his  too  unreserved  self- 
sacrifice  to  the  labors  and  duties  of  the  pastoral  relation. 

The  Governor,  in  advance  of  his  visitors,  ascended 
one  or  two  steps,  and,  throwing  open  the  leaves  of  the 
great  hall-window,  found  himself  close  to  little  Pearl. 
The  shadow  of  the  curtain  fell  on  Hester  Prynne,  and 
partially  concealed  her. 

"  What  have  we  here  ?  "  said  Governor  Bellingham, 
looking  with  surprise  at  the  scarlet  little  figure  before 
him.  "  I  profess,  I  have  never  seen  the  like,  since  my 
days  of  vanity,  in  old  King  James's  time,  when  I  was 
wont  to  esteem  it  a  high  favor  to  be  admitted  to  a  court 
mask!  There  used  to  be  a  swarm  of  these  small  ap 
paritions,  in  holiday  time ;  and  we  called  them  children 


THE    ELF-CHILD    AND    THE    MINISTER.       125 

ot  the  Lord  of  Misrule.     But  how  gat  such  a  guest  into 
my  hall?" 

"  Ay,  indeed  !  "  cried  good  old  Mr.  Wilson.  "  What 
little  bird  of  scarlet  plumage  may  this  be  ?  Methinka 
I  have  seen  just  such  figures,  when  the  sun  has  been 
shining  through  ajichly  painted  window,  and  tracing  ^ 
out  the  golden  and  crimson  images  across  the  floor. 
But  that  was  in  the  old  land.  Prithee,  young  one,  who 
art  thou,  and  what  has  ailed  thy  mother  to  bedizen  thee 
in  this  strange  fashion  ?  Art  thou  a  Christian  child,  — 
ha  ?  Dost  know  thy  catechism  ?  Or  art  thou  one  of 
those  naughty  elfs  or  fairies,  whom  we  thought  to  have 
left  behind  us,  with  other  relics  of  Papistry,  in  merry 
old  England  ?  " 

_"I  am  mother's  child,"  answered  the  scarlet  vision, 
"  and  my  name  is  Pearl !  " 

"Pearl?— Ruby,  rather  !  — or  Coral!— or  Red  Rose, 
at  the  very  least,  judging  from  thy  hue  !  "  responded  the 
old  minister,  putting  forth  his  hand  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
pat  little  Pearl  on  the  cheek.  "  But  where  is  this  mother  jfi •;•£? 
of  thine?  Ah!  I  see,"  he  added;  and,  turning  to 
Governor  Bellingham,  whispered,  "This  is  the  selfsame  c^ 
child  of  whom  we  have  held  speech  together;  and 


behold  here  the  unhappy  woman,  Hester  Prynne,  her 
mother !  " 

"  Sayest  thou  so  ?  "  cried  the  Governor.  "  Nay,  we 
might  have  judged  that  such  a  child's  mother  must  needs 
be  a  scarlet  woman,  and  a  worthy  type  of  her  of  Baby 
lon  !  But  she  comes  at  a  good  time  ;  and  we  will  look 
into  this  matter  forthwith." 

Governor  Bellingham  stepped  through  the  window 
into  the  hall,  .followed  by  his  three  guests. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  said  he,  fixing  his  naturally  stern 
regard  on  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter,  "  there  hath 


126  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

been  much  question  concerning  thee,  of  late.  The 
point  hath  been  weightily  discussed,  whether  we,  that 
_are  of  authority  and  influence,  do  well  discharge  our 
consciences  by  trusting  an  immortal  soul,  such  as  there 
is  in  yonder  child,  to  the  guidance  of  one  who  hath 
stumbled  and  fallen,  amid  the  pitfalls  of  this  world. 
Speak  thou,  the  child's  own  mother!  Were  it  not, 
thinkest  thou,  for  thy  little  one's  temporal  and  eternal 
welfare  that  she  be  taken  out  of  thy  charge,  and  clad 
soberly,  and  disciplined  strictly,  and  instructed  in  the 
truths  of  heaven  and  earth?  What  canst  thou  do  for 
the  child,  in  this  kind  ?  " 

"  I  can  teach  my  little  Pearl  what  I  have  learned  from 
this  !  "  answered  Hester  Prynne,  laying  her  finger  on 
the  red  token. 

"  Woman,  it  is  thy  badge  of  shame  !  "  replied  the  stern 
magistrate.  "  It  is  because  of  the  stain  which  that  let 
ter  indicates,  that  we  would  transfer  thy  child  to  other 
hands." 

"Nevertheless,"  said  the  mother,  calmly,  though 
growing  more  pale,  "  this  badge  hath  taught  me  —  it 
daily  teaches  me  —  it  is  teaching  me  at  this  moment 

—  lessons  whereof  my  child  may  be  the  wiser  and  better, 
albeit  they  can  profit  nothing  to  myself." 

"We  will  judge  warily,"  said  Belliiigham,  "and  look 
well  what  we  are  about  to  do.  Good  Master  Wilson,  I 
pray  you,  examine  this  Pearl,  —  since  that  is  her  name, 

—  and  see  whether  she  hath  had  such  Christian  nurture 
as  befits  a  child  of  her  age." 

The  old  minister  seated  himself  in  an  arm-chair,  and 
made  an  effort  to  draw  Pearl  betwixt  his  knees.  But 
the  child,  unaccustomed  to  the  touch  or  familiarity  of 
any  but  her  mother,  escaped  through  the  open  window, 
and  stood  on  the  upper  step,  looking  like  a  wild  tropical 


THE    ELF-CHILD    AND    THE    MINISTER. 

bird,  of  rich  plumage,  ready  to  take  flight  into  the  upper 
air.  Mr.  Wilson,  not  a  little  astonished  at  this  out 
break,  —  for  he  was  a  grandfatherly  sort  of  personage, 
and  usually  a  vast  favorite  with  children,  —  essayed, 
however,  to  proceed  with  the  examination. 

"  Pearl,"  said  he,  with  great  solemnity,  "  thou  must 
take  heed  to  instruction,  that  so,  in  due  season,  thou 
rnayest  wear  in  thy  bosom  the  pearl  of  great  price. 
Canst  thou  tell  me,  my  child,  who  made  thee?" 

Now  Pearl  knew  well  enough  who  made  her;  for 
Hester  Prynne,  the  daughter  of  a  pious  home,  very  soon 
after  her  talk  with  the  child  about  her  Heavenly  Father, 
had  begun  to  inform  her  of  those  truths  which  the 
human  spirit,  at  whatever  stage  of  immaturity,  imbibes 
with  such  eager  interest.  Pearl,  therefore,  so  large  were 
the  attainments  of  her  three  years'  lifetime,  could  have 
borne  a  fair  examination  in  the  New  England  Primer,  or 
the  first  column  of  the  Westminster  Catechisms,  although 
unacquainted  with  the  outward  form  of  either  of  those 
celebrated  works.  But  that  perversity  which  all  chil 
dren  have  more  or  less  of,  and  of  which  little  Pearl  had 
a  tenfold  portion,  now,  at  the  most  inopportune  moment, 
took  thorough  possession  of  her,  and  closed  her  lips,  or 
impelled  her  to  speak  words  amiss.  After  putting  her 
finger  in  her  mouth,  with  many  ungracious  refusals  to 
answer  good  Mr.  Wilson's  question,  the  child  finally 
announced  that  she  had  not  been  made  at  all,  but  had 
been  plucked  by  her  mother  off  the  bush  of  wild  roses 
that  grew  by  the  prison-door. 

This  fantasy  was  probably  suggested  by  the  near  prox 
imity  of  the  Governor's  red  roses,  as  Pearl  stood  outside 
of  the  window;  together  with  her  recollection  of  the 
prison  rose-bush,  which  she  had  passed  in  coining  hither. 

Old  Roger  Chillingworth,  with  a  smile  on  his  face, 


128  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

whispered  something  in  the  young  clergyman's  ear. 
Hester  Prynne  looked  at  the  man  of  skill,  and  even 
then,  with  her  fate  hanging  in  the  balance,  was  startled 
to  perceive  what  a  change  had  come  over  his  features, 
—  how  much  uglier  they  were,  —  how  his  dark  com 
plexion  seemed  to  have  grown  duskier,  and  his  figure 
more  misshapen,  —  since  the  days  when  she  had  famil 
iarly  known  him.  She  met  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  but 
was  immediately  constrained  to  give  all  her  attention  to 
the  scene  now  going  forward. 

"  This  is  awful ! "  cried  the  Governor,  slowly  recov 
ering  from  the  astonishment  into  which  Pearl's  response 
had  thrown  him.  "  Here  is  a  child  of  three  years  old, 
and  she  cannot  tell  who  made  her !  Without  question, 
she  is  equally  in  the  dark  as  to  her  soul,  its  present 
depravity,  and  future  destiny !  Methinks,  gentlemen, 
we  need  inquire  no  further." 

Hester  caught  hold  of  Pearl,  and  drew  her  forcibly 
into  her  arms,  confronting  the  old  Puritan  magistrate 
with  almost  a  fierce  expression.  Alone  in  the  world,  cast 
off  by  it,  and  with  this  sole  treasure  to  keep  her  heart 
alive,  she  felt  that  she  possessed  indefeasible  rights  against 
the  world,  and  was  ready  to  defend  them  to  the  death. 

"  God  gave  me  the  child !  "  cried  she.  "  He  gave  her 
in  requital  of  all  things  else,  which  ye  had  taken  from 
me.  She  is  my  happiness !  —  she  is  my  torture,  none 
the  less  !  Pearl  keeps  me  here  in  life  !  Pearl  punishes 
me  too  !  See  ye  not,  she  is  the  scarlet  letter,  only  capa 
ble  of  being  loved,  and  so  endowed  with  a  million-fold  the 
power  of  retribution  for  my  sin  ?  Ye  shall  not  take  her ! 
I  will  die  first !  " 

"  My  poor  woman,"  said  the  not  unkind  old  minister, 
"  the  child  shall  be  well  cared  for !  —  far  better  than  thou 
canst  do  it." 


THE    ELF-CHILD    AND    THE    MINISTER.       129 

"  God  gave  her  into  my  keeping,"  repeated  Hester 
Prynne,  raising  her  voice  almost  to  a  shriek.  "  I  will 
not  give  her  up !  "  —  And  here,  by  a  sudden  impulse, 
she  turned  to  the  young  clergyman,  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  at 
whom,  up  to  this  moment,  she  had  seemed  hardly  so 
much  as  once  to  direct  her  eyes.  —  "  Speak  thou  foi 
me!"  cried  she.  "Thou  wast  my  pastor,  and  hadsl 
charge  of  my  soul,  and  knowest  me  better  than  these 
men  can.  I  will  not  lose  the  child !  Speak  for  me ! 
Thou  knowest,  —  for  thou  hast  sympathies  which  these 
men  lack !  —  thou  knowest  what  is  in  my  heart,  and 
what  are  a  mother's  rights,  and  how  much  the  stronger 
they  are,  when  that  mother  has  but  her  child  and  the 
scarlet  letter !  Look  thou  to  it !  I  will  not  lose  the 
child !  Look  to  it !  "  -^Vx<^-<^ 

At  this  wild  and  singular  appeal,  which  indicated  that 
Hester  Prynne's  situation  had  provoked  her  to  little  less 
than  madness,  the  young  minister  at  once  came  forward, 
pale,  and  holding  his  hand  over  his  heart,  as  was  his 
custom  whenever  his  peculiarly  nervous  temperament 
was  thrown  into  agitation.  He  looked  now  more  care 
worn  and  emaciated  than  as  we  described  him  at  the 
scene  of  Hester's  public  ignominy ;  and  whether  it  were 
his  failing  health,  or  whatever  the  cause  might  be,  his 
large  dark  eyes  had  a  world  of  pain  in  their  troubled 
and  melancholy  depth. 

"  There  is  truth  in  what  she  says,"  began  the  minister, 
with  a  voice  sweet,  tremulous,  but  powerful,  insomuch 
that  the  hall  re-echoed,  and  the  hollow  armor  rang  with 
it,  —  "  truth  in  what  Hester  says,  and  in  the  feeling 
which  inspires  her !  God  gave  her  the  child,  and  gave 
her,  too,  an  instinctive  knowledge  of  its  nature  and 
requirements,  —  both  seemingly  so  peculiar,  —  which  no 
other  mortal  being  can  possess.  And,  moreover,  is  there 
6*  i 


130  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

not  a  quality  of  awful  sacredness  in  the  relation  between 
this  mother  and  this  child  ?  " 

"  Ay !  —  how  is  that,  good  Master  Dimmesdale  ?  " 
interrupted  the  Governor.  "Make  that  plain,  I  pray 
you!" 

"  It  must  be  even  so,"  resumed  the  minister.  "  For, 
if  we  deem  it  otherwise,  do  we  not  thereby  say  that  the 
Heavenly  Father,  the  Creator  of  all  flesh,  hath  lightly 
recognized  a  deed  of  sin,  and  made  of  no  account  the 
distinction  between  unhallowed  lust  and  holy  love? 
This  child  of  its  father's  guilt  and  its  mother's  shame 
hath  come  from  the  hand  of  God,  to  work  in  many  ways 
upon  her  heart,  who  pleads  so  earnestly,  and  with  such 
bitterness  of  spirit,  the  right  to  keep  her.  It  was  meant 
for  a  blessing ;  for  the  one  blessing  of  her  life  !  It  was 
meant,  doubtless,  as  the  mother  herself  hath  told  us,  for 
a  retribution  too ;  a  torture  to  be  felt  at  many  an  un- 
thought-of  moment ;  a  pang,  a  sting,  an  ever-recurring 
agony,  in  the  midst  of  a  troubled  joy !  Hath  she  not 
expressed  this  thought  in  the  garb  of  the  poor  child,  so 
forcibly  reminding  us  of  that  red  symbol  which  sears  her 
bosom  ?  " 

"  Well  said,  again !  "  cried  good  Mr.  Wilson.  "  I 
feared  the  woman  had  no  better  thought  than  to  make 
a  mountebank  of  her  child ! " 

"  O,  not  so  !  —  not  so  !  "  continued  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 
"  She  recognizes,  believe  me,  the  solemn  miracle  which 
God  hath  wrought,  in  the  existence  of  that  child.  And 
may  she  feel,  too,  —  what,  methinks,  is  the  very  truth,  — 
that  this  boon  was  meant,  above  all  things  else,  to  keep 
the  mother's  soul  alive,  and  to  preserve  her  from  blacker 
depths  of  sin  into  which  Satan  might  else  have  sought  to 
plunge  her !  Therefore  it  is  good  for  this  poor,  sinful 
woman  that  she  hath  an  infant  immortality,  a  being  capa- 


THE    ELF-CHILD   AND    THE    MINISTER.       ^  31 

ble  of  eternal  joy  or  sorrow,  confided  to  her  care,  —  to 
be  trained  up  by  her  to  righteousness,  —  to  remind  her, 
at  every  moment,  of  her  fall,  —  but  yet  to  teach  her,  as 
it  were  by  the  Creator's  sacred  pledge,  that,  if  she  bring 
the  child  to  heaven,  the  child  also  will  bring  its  parent 
thither !  Herein  is  the  sinful  mother  happier  than  the 
sinful  father.  For  Hester  Prynne's  sake,  then,  and  no 
less  for  the  poor  child's  sake,  let  us  leave  them  as  Provi 
dence  hath  seen  fit  to  place  them  !  " 

"  You  speak,  my  friend,  with  a  strange  earnestness/' 
said  old  Roger  Chilling  worth,  smiling  at  him. 

"And  there  is  a  weighty  import  in  what  my  young 
brother  hath  spoken,"  added  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson. 
"  What  say  you,  worshipful  Master  Bellingham  ?  Hath 
he  not  pleaded  well  for  the  poor  woman  ?  " 

"  Indeed  hath  he,"  answered  the  magistrate,  "  and  hath 
adduced  such  arguments,  that  we  will  even  leave  the 
matter  as  it  now  stands  ;  so  long,  at  least,  as  there  shall 
be  no  further  scandal  in  the  woman.  Care  must  be  had, 
nevertheless,  to  put  the  child  to  due  and  stated  examina 
tion  in  the  catechism,  at  thy  hands  or  Master  Dimmes- 
dale's.  Moreover,  at  a  .proper  season,  the  tithing-men 
must  take  heed  that  she  go  both  to  school  and  to  meet 
ing." 

The  young  minister,  on  ceasing  to  speak,  had  with 
drawn  a  few  steps  from  the  group,  and  stood  with  his 
face  partially  concealed  in  the  heavy  folds  of  the  window- 
curtain  ;  while  the  shadow  of  his  figure,  which  the  sun 
light  cast  upon  the  floor,  was  tremulous  with  the  vehe 
mence  of  his  appeal.  Pearl,  that  wild  and  flighty  little  elf, 
,  stole  softly  towards  him,  and  taking  his  hand  in  the  grasp 
of  both  her  own,  laid  her  cheek  against  it ;  a  caress  so 
tender,  and  withal  so  unobtrusive,  that  her  mother,  who 
was  looking  on,  asked  herself,  —  "  Is  that  my  Pearl  ?  " 


L3£          THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Yet  she  knew  that  there  was  love  in  the  child's  heart, 
although  it  mostly  revealed  itself  in  passion,  and  hardly 
twice  in  her  lifetime  had  been  softened  by  snch  gentle 
ness  as  now.  The  minister,  —  for,  save  the  long-sought 
regards  of  woman,  nothing  is  sweeter  than  these  marks 
of  childish  preference,  accorded  spontaneously  by  a  spir 
itual  instinct,  and  therefore  seeming  to  imply  in  us  some 
thing  truly  worthy  to  be  loved,  —  the  minister  looked 
round,  laid  his  hand  on  the  child's  head,  hesitated  an  in 
stant,  and  then  kissed  her  brow.  Little  Pearl's  unwonted 
mood  of  sentiment  lasted  no  longer;  she  laughed,  and 
went  capering  down  the  hall,  so  airily,  that  old  Mr.  Wil 
son  raised  a  question  whether  even  her  tiptoes  touched 
the  floor. 

"  The  little  baggage  hath  witchcraft  in  her,  I  profess," 
said  he  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  "  She  needs  no  old  woman's 
broomstick  to  fly  withal !  " 

"  A  strange  child !  "  remarked  old  Roger  Chillingworth. 
"  It  is  easy  to  see  the  mother's  part  in  her.  Would  it  be 
beyond  a  philosopher's  research,  think  ye,  gentlemen,  to 
analyze  that  child's  nature,  and,  from  its  make  and  mould, 
to  give  a  shrewd  guess  at  the  father  ?  " 

"  Nay ;  it  would  be  sinful,  in  such  a  question,  to  fol 
low  the  clew  of  profane  philosophy,"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 
"  Better  to  fast  and  pray  upon  it ;  and  still  better,  it  may 
be,  to  leave  the  mystery  as  we  find  it,  unless  Providence 
reveal  it  of  its  own  accord.  Thereby,  every  good  Chris 
tian  man  hath  a  title  to  show  a  father's  kindness  towards 
the  poor,  deserted  babe." 

The  affair  being  so  satisfactorily  concluded,  Hester 
Prynne,  with  Pearl,  departed  from  the  house.  As  they 
descended  the  steps,  it  is  averred  that  the  lattice  of  a 
chamber-window  was  thrown  open,  and  forth  into  the 
sunny  day  was  thrust  the  face  of  Mistress  Hibbins,  Gov- 


THE    ELF-CHILD   AND    THE    MINISTER.       133 

ernor  Bellingham's  bitter-tempered  sister,  and  the  same 
who,  a  few  years  later,  was  executed  as  a  witch. 

"  Hist,  hist !  "  said  she,  while  her  ill-omened  physiog 
nomy  seemed  to  cast  a  shadow  over  the  cheerful  newness 
of  the  house.  ' '  Wilt  thou  go  with  us  to-night  ?  There 
will  be  a  merry  company  in  the  forest ;  and  I  wellnigh 
promised  the  Black  Man  that  comely  Hester  Prynne 
should  make  one." 

"  Make  my  excuse  to  him,  so  please  you ! "  answered 
Hester,  with  a  triumphant  smile.  "  I  must  tarry  at  home, 
and  keep  watch  over  my  little  Pearl.  Had  they  taken 
her  from  me,  I  would  willingly  have  gone  with  thee  into 
the  forest,  and  signed  my  name  in  the  Black  Man's  book 
too,  and  that  with  mine  own  blood !  " 

"  We  shall  have  thee  there  anon !  "  said  the  witch-lady, 
frowning,  as  she  drew  back  her  head. 

But  here  —  if  we  suppose  this  interview  betwixt  Mis 
tress  Hibbins  and  Hester  Prynne  to  be  authentic,  and  not 
a  parable  —  was  already  an  illustration  of  the  young  min 
ister's  argument  against  sundering  the  relation  of  a  fallen 
mother  to  the  offspring  of  her  frailty.  Even  thus  early 
had  the  child  saved  her  from  Satan's  snare. 


IX. 

THE   LEECH. 

|NDER  the  appellation  of  Roger  Chillingworth, 
the  reader  will  remember,  was  hidden  another 
name,  which  its  former  wearer  had  resolved 
should  never  more  be  spoken.  It  has  been  related,  how, 
in  the  crowd  that  witnessed  Hester  Prynne's  ignomini 
ous  exposure,  stood  a  man,  elderly,  travel-worn,  who, 
just  emerging  from  the  perilous  wilderness,  beheld  the 
woman,  in  whom  he  hoped  to  find  embodied  the  warmth 
and  cheerfulness  of  home,  set  up  as  a  type  of  sin  before 
the  people.  Her  matronly  fame  was  trodden  under  all 
men's  feet.  Infamy  was  babbling  around  her  in  the 
public  market-place.  For  her  kindred,  should  the  tid 
ings  ever  reach  them,  and  for  the  companions  of  her 
unspotted  life,  there  remained  nothing  but  the  contagion 
of  her  dishonor;  which  would  not  fail  to  be  distributed 
in  strict  accordance  and  proportion  with  the  intimacy 
and  sacredness  of  their  previous  relationship  Then  why 
—  since  the  choice  was  with  himself  —  should  the  indi 
vidual,  whose  connection  with  the  fallen  woiran  had  been 
the  most  intimate  and  sacred  of  them  all,  come  forward 
to  vindicate  his  claim  to  an  inheritance  so  little  desirable  ? 
He  resolved  not  to  be  pilloried  beside  her  on  her  pedestal 


THE    LEECH.  135 

of  shame.  Unknown  to  all  but  Hester  Prynne,  and  pos 
sessing  the  lock  and  key  of  her  silence,  he  chose  to  with 
draw  his  name  from  the  roll  of  mankind,  and,  as  regarded 
flis  former  ties  and  interests,  to  vanish  out  of  life  as  com 
pletely  as  if  he  indeed  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean, 
whither  rumor  had  long  ago  consigned  him.  This  pur 
pose  once  effected,  new  interests  would  immediately 
spring  up,  and  likewise  a  new  purpose ;  dark,  it  is  true, 
if  not  guilty,  but  of  force  enough  to  engage  the  full 
strength  of  his  faculties. 

In  pursuance  of  this  resolve,  he  took  up  his  residence 
in  the  Puritan  town,  as  Roger  Chillingworth,  without 
other  introduction  than  the  learning  and  intelligence  of 
which  he  possessed  more  than  a  common  measure.  As 
his  studies,  at  a  previous  period  of  his  life,  had  made  him 
extensively  acquainted  with  the  medical  science  of  the 
day,  it  was  as  a  physician  that  he  presented  himself,  and 
as  such  was  cordially  received.  Skilful  men,  of  the 
medical  and  chirurgical  profession,  were  of  rare  occur 
rence  in  the  colony.  They  seldom,  it  would  appear,  par 
took  of  the  religious  zeal  that  brought  other  emigrants 
across  the  Atlantic.  In  their  researches  into  the  human 
frame,  it  may  be  that  the  higher  and  more  subtile  facul 
ties  of  such  men  were  materialized,  and  that  they  lost 
the  spiritual  view  of  existence  amid  the  intricacies  of  that 
wondrous  mechanism,  which  seemed  to  involve  art  enough 
to  comprise  all  of  life  within  itself.  At  all  events,  the 
health  of  the  good  town  of  Boston,  so  far  as  medicine 
had  aught  to  do  with  it,  had  hitherto  lain  in  the  guar 
dianship  of  an  aged  deacon  and  apothecary,  whose  piety 
and  godly  deportment  were  stronger  testimonials  in  his 
favor  than  any  that  he  could  have  produced  in  the  shape 
of  a  diploma.  The  only  surgeon  was  one  who  combined 
the  occasional  exercise  of  that  noble  art  with  the  daily 


136         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

and  habitual  flourish  of  a  razor.  To  such  a  professional 
body  Roger  Chillingworth  was  a  brilliant  acquisition. 
He  soon  manifested  his  familiarity  with  the  ponderous 
and  imposing  machinery  of  antique  physic ;  in  which 
every  remedy  contained  a  multitude  of  far-fetched  and 
heterogeneous  ingredients,  as  elaborately  compounded  as 
if  the  proposed  result  had  been  the  Elixir  of  Life.  In 
his  Indian  captivity,  moreover,  he  had  gained  much 
knowledge  of  the  properties  of  native  herbs  and  roots ; 
nor  did  he  conceal  from  his  patients,  that  these  simple 
medicines,  Nature's  boon  to  the  untutored  savage,  had 
quite  as  large  a  share  of  his  own  confidence  as  the  Eu 
ropean  pharmacopoeia,  which  so  many  learned  doctors 
had  spent  centuries  in  elaborating. 

This  learned  stranger  was  exemplary,  as  regarded,  at 
least,  the  outward  forms  of  a  religious  life,  and,  early 
after  his  arrival,  had  chosen  for  his  spiritual  guide  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  The  young  divine,  whose 
scholar-like  renown  still  lived  in  Oxford,  was  considered 
by  his  more  fervent  admirers  as  little  less  than  a  lieaven- 
ordained  apostle,  destined,  should  he  live  and  labor  for 
the  ordinary  term  of  life,  to  do  as  great  deeds  for  the 
now  feeble  New  England  Church,  as  the  early  Fathers 
had  achieved  for  the  infancy  of  the  Christian  faith. 
About  this  period,  however,  the  health  of  Mr.  Dimmes 
dale  had  evidently  begun  to  fail.  By  those  best  acquaint 
ed  with  his  habits,  the  paleness  of  the  young  minister's 
cheek  was  accounted  for  by  his  too  earnest  devotion  to 
study,  his  scrupulous  fulfilment  of  parochial  duty,  and, 
more  than  all,  by  the  fasts  and  vigils  of  which  he  made 
a  frequent  practice,  in  order  to  keep  the  grossness  of 
this  earthly  state  from  clogging  and  obscuring  his  spir 
itual  lamp.  Some  declared,  that,  if  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
e  really  going  t~>  die,  it  was  cause  enough,  that  the 


THE    LEECH.  137 

\rorid  was  not  worthy  to  be  any  longer  trodden  by  his 
leet.  He  himself,  on  the  other  hand,  with  characteristic 
humility,  avowed  his  belief,  that,  if  Providence  should  see 
fit  to  remove  him,  it  would  be  because  of  his  own  un- 
worthiness  to  perform  its  humblest  mission  here  on  earth. 
With  all  this  difference  of  opinion  as  to  the  cause  of  his 
decline,  there  could  be  no  question  of  the  fact.  His  form 
grew  emaciated ;  his  voice,  though  still  rich  and  sweet, 
had  a  certain  melancholy  prophecy  of  decay  in  it ;  he  was 
often  observed,  on  any  slight  alarm  or  other  sudden  ac 
cident,  to  put  his  hand  over  his  heart,  with  first  a  flush 
and  then  a  paleness,  indicative  of  pain. 

Such  was  the  young  clergyman's  condition,  and  so 
imminent  the  prospect  that  his  dawning  light  would  be 
extinguished,  all  untimely,  when  Roger  Chillingworth 
made  his  advent  to  the  town.  His  first  entry  on  the 
scene,  few  people  could  tell  whence,  dropping  down,  aa 
it  were,  out  of  the  sky,  or  starting  from  the  nether  earth, 
had  an  aspect  of  mystery,  which  was  easily  heightened  to 
the  miraculous.  He  was  now  known  to  be  a  man  of 
skill;  it  was  observed  that  he  gathered  herbs,  and  the 
blossoms  of  wild-flowers,  and  dug  up  roots,  and  plucked 
off  twigs  from  the  forest-trees,  like  one  acquainted  with 
hidden  virtues  in  what  was  valueless  to  common  eyes. 
He  was  heard  to  speak  of  Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  and  other 
famous  men,  —  whose  scientific  attainments  were  es 
teemed  hardly  less  than  supernatural,  —  as  having  been 
his  correspondents  or  associates.  Why,  with  such  rank 
in  the  learned  world,  had  he  come  hither  ?  What  could 
he,  whose  sphere  was  in  great  cities,  be  seeking  in  the 
wilderness  ?  In  answer  to  this  query,  a  rumor  gained 
ground,  —  and,  however  absurd,  was  entertained  by  some 
very  sensible  people,  —  that  Heaven  had  wrought  an  ab 
solute  miracle,  by  transporting  an  eminent  Doctor  of 


138  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

'Physic,  from  a  German  university,  bodily  through  the 
;air,  and  setting  him  down  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  study !  Individuals  of  wiser  faith,  indeed,  who 
knew  that  Heaven  promotes  its  purposes  without  aiming 
at  the  stage-effect  of  what  is  called  miraculous  interpo 
sition,  were  inclined  to  see  a  providential  hand  in  Roger 
Chillingworth's  so  opportune  arrival. 

This  idea  was  countenanced  by  the  strong  interest 
vrhich  the  physician  ever  manifested  in  the  young  cler 
gyman;  he  attached  himself  to  him  as  a  parishioner, 
and  sought  to  win  a  friendly  regard  and  confidence  from 
bis  naturally  reserved  sensibility.  He  expressed  great 
alarm  at  his  pastor's  state  of  health,  but  was  anxious  to 
attempt  the  cure,  and,  if  early  undertaken,  seemed  not 
despondent  of  a  favorable  resiilt.  The  elders,  the  dea 
cons,  the  motherly  dames,  and  the  young  and  fair  maid 
ens,  of  Mr.  Diinmesdale's  flock,  were  alike  importunate 
that  he  should  make  trial  of  the  physician's  frankly 
offered  skill.  Mr.  Dimmesdale  gently  repelled  their 
entreaties. 

"  I  need  no  medicine,"  said  he. 

But  how  could  the  young  minister  say  so,  when,  with 
every  successive  Sabbath,  his  cheek  was  paler  and  thin 
ner,  and  his  voice  more  tremulous  than  before,  —  when 
it  had  now  become  a  constant  habit,  rather  than  a  casual 
gesture,  to  press  his  hand  over  his  heart?  Was  he 
weary  of  his  labors  ?  Did  he  wish  to  die  ?  These  ques 
tions  were  solemnly  propounded  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale  by 
the  elder  ministers  of  Boston  and  the  deacons  of  his 
church,  who,  to  use  their  own  phrase,  "  dealt  with  him  " 
on  the  sin  of  rejecting  the  aid  which  Providence  so  man 
ifestly  held  out.  He  listened  in  silence,  and  finally 
promised  to  confer  with  the  physician. 

"Were  it  God's  will,"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dim- 


THE    LEECH.  139 

mesdale,  when,  in  fulfilment  of  this  pledge,  he  requested 
old  Roger  Chillingworth's  professional  advice,  "  I  could 
be  well  content,  that  my  labors,  and  my  sorrows,  and  my 
sins,  and  my  pains,  should  shortly  end  with  me,  and 
what  is  earthly  of  them  be  buried  in  my  grave,  and  the 
spiritual  go  with  me  to  my  eternal  state,  rather  than 
that  you  should  put  your  skill  to  the  proof  in  my  be 
half." 

"Ah,"  replied  Roger  Chillingworth,  with  that  quiet 
ness  which,  whether  imposed  or  natural,  marked  all  his 
deportment,  "  it  is  thus  that  a  young  clergyman  is  apt 
to  speak.  Youthful  men,  not  having  taken  a  deep  root, 
give  up  their  hold  of  life  so  easily !  And  saintly  men, 
who  walk  with  God  on  earth,  would  fain  be  away,  to 
walk  with  him  on  the  golden  pavements  of  the  New 
Jerusalem." 

"  Nay,"  rejoined  the  young  minister,  putting  his  hand 
to  his  heart,  with  a  flush  of  pain  flitting  over  bis  brow, 
"  were  I  worthier  to  walk  there,  I  could  be  better  content 
to  toil  here." 

"Good  men  ever  interpret  themselves  too  meanly," 
said  the  physician. 

In  this  manner,  the  mysterious  old  Roger  Chilling- 
worth  became  the  medical  adviser  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale.  As  not  only  the  disease  interested  the 
physician,  but  he  was  strongly  moved  to  look  into  the 
character  and  qualities  of  the  patient,  these  two  men,  so 
different  in  age,  came  gradually  to  spend  much  time 
together.  Eor  the  sake  of  the  minister's  health,  and  to 
enable  the  leech  to  gather  plants  with  healing  balm  in 
them,  they  took  long  walks  on  the  sea-shore,  or  in  the 
forest ;  mingling  various  talk  with  the  plash  and  mur 
mur  of  the  waves,  and  the  solemn  wind-anthem  among 
the  tree-tops.  Often,  likewise,  one  was  the  guest  of  the 


140         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

other,  in  his  place  of  study  and  retirement.  There  waa 
a  fascination  for  the  minister  in  the  company  of  the  man 
of  science,  in  whom  he  recognized  an  intellectual  culti 
vation  of  no  moderate  depth  or  scope ;  together  with  a 
range  and  freedom  of  ideas,  that  he  would  have  vainly 
looked  for  among  the  members  of  his  own  profession. 
In  truth,  he  was  startled,  if  not  shocked,  to  find  this 
attribute  in  the  physician.  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  a  true 
priest,  a  true  religionist,  with  the  reverential  sentiment 
largely  developed,  and  an  order  of  mind  that  impelled 
itself  powerfully  along  the  track  of  a  creed,  and  wore  its 
passage  continually  deeper  with  the  lapse  of  time.  In 
no  state  of  society  would  he  have  been  what  is  called  a 
man  of  liberal  views ;  it  would  always  be  essential  to 
his  peace  to  feel  the  pressure  of  a  faith  about  him,  sup 
porting,  while  it  confined  him  within  its  iron  framework. 
Not  the  less,  however,  though  with  a  tremulous  enjoy 
ment,  did  he  feel  the  occasional  relief  of  looking  at  the 
universe  through  the  medium  of  another  kind  of  Jitel- 
lect  than  those  with  which  he  habitually  hek'.  converse. 
It  was  as  if  a  window  were  thrown  open,  admitting  a 
freer  atmosphere  into  the  close  and  stifled  study,  where 
his  life  was  wasting  itself  away,  amid  lamplight,  or  ob 
structed  day -beams,  and  the  musty  fragrance,  be  it  sen 
sual  or  moral,  that  exhales  from  books.  But  the  air  was 
too  fresh  and  chill  to  be  long  breathed  with  comfort. 
So  the  minister,  and  the  physician  with  him,  withdrew 
again  within  the  limits  of  what  their  church  defined  as 
orthodox. 

Thus  Roger  Chillingworth  scrutinized  his  patient 
carefully,  both  as  he  saw  him  in  his  ordinary  life,  keep 
ing  an  accustomed  pathway  in  the  range  of  thoughts 
familiar  to  him,  and  as  he  appeared  when  thrown  amidst 
other  moral  scenery,  the  novelty  of  which  might  call  out 


THE    LEECH.  141 

something  new  to  the  surface  of  his  character.  He 
deemed  it  essential,  it  would  seem,  to  know  the  man, 
before  attempting  to  do  him  good.  Wherever  there  is  a 
heart  and  an  intellect,  the  diseases  of  the  physical  frame 
are  tinged  with  the  peculiarities  of  these.  In  Arthur 
Dimmesdale,  thought  and  imagination  were  so  active, 
and  sensibility  so  intense,  that  the  bodily  infirmity  would 
be  likely  to  have  its  groundwork  there.  So  lloger 
Chillingworth  —  the  man  of  skill,  the  kind  and  friendly 
physician  —  strove  to  go  deep  into  his  patient's  bosom, 
delving  among  his  principles,  prying  into  his  recollec 
tions,  and  probing  everything  with  a  cautious  touch, 
like  a  treasure-seeker  in  a  dark  cavern.  Eew  secrets 
can  escape  an  investigator,  who  has  opportunity  and 
license  to  undertake  such  a  quest,  and  skill  to  follow  it 
up.  A  man  burdened  with  a  secret  should  especially 
avoid  the  intimacy  of  his  physician.  If  the  latter  pos 
sess  native  sagacity,  and  a  nameless  something  more,  — 
let  us  call  it  intuition ;  if  he  show  no  intrusive  egotism, 
nor  disagreeably  prominent  characteristics  of  his  own; 
if  he  have  the  power,  which  must  be  born  with  him,  to 
bring  his  mind  into  such,  affinity  with  his  patient's,  that 
this  last  shall  unawares  have  spoken  what  he  imagines 
himself  only  to  have  thought ;  if  such  revelations  be 
received  without  tumult,  and  acknowledged  not  so  often 
by  an  uttered  sympathy  as  by  silence,  an  inarticulate 
breath,  and  here  and  there  a  word,  to  indicate  that  all  is 
understood ;  if  to  these  qualifications  of  a  confidant  be 
joined  the  advantages  aiforded  by  his  recognized  charac 
ter  as  a  physician;  —  then,  at  some  inevitable  moment, 
will  the  soul  of  the  sufferer  be  dissolved,  and  flow  forth 
in  a  dark,  but  transparent  stream,  bringing  all  its  myste 
ries  into  the  daylight. 

lloger  Chillingworth   possessed  all,  or  most,  of  the 


142         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

attributes  above  enumerated.  Nevertheless,  time  went 
on  ;  a  kind  of  intimacy,  as  we  have  said,  grew  up  between 
these  two  cultivated  minds,  which  had  as  wide  a  field  as 
the  whole  sphere  of  human  thought  and  study,  to  meet 
upon  ;  they  discussed  every  topic  of  ethics  and  religion, 
of  public  affairs  and  private  character  ;  they  talked  much, 
on  both  sides,  of  matters  that  seemed  personal  to  them 
selves  ;  and  yet  no  secret,  such  as  the  physician  fancied 
must  exist  there,  ever  stole  out  of  the  minister's  con 
sciousness  into  his  companion's  ear.  The  latter  had  his 
suspicions,  indeed,  that  even  the  nature  of  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  bodily  disease  had  never  fairly  been  revealed  to 
him.  It  was  a  strange  reserve  ! 

After  a  time,  at  a  hint  from  Roger  Chillingworth,  the 
friends  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale  effected  an  arrangement  by 
which  the  two  were  lodged  in  the  same  house ;  so  that 
every  ebb  and  flow  of  the  minister's  life-tide  might  pass 
under  the  eye  of  his  anxious  and  attached  physician. 
There  was  much  joy  throughout  the  town,  when  this 
g>eatly  desirable  object  was  attained.  It  was  held  to  be 
the  best  possible  measure  for  the  young  clergyman's 
welfare ;  unless,  indeed,  as  often  urged  by  such  as  felt 
authorized  to  do  so,  he  had  selected  some  one  of  the 
many  blooming  damsels,  spiritually  devoted  to  him,  to 
become  his  devoted  wife.  This  latter  step,  however, 
there  was  no  present  prospect  that  Arthur  Dimmesdale 
would  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  ;  he  rejected  all  sugges 
tions  of  the  kind,  as  if  priestly  celibacy  were  one  of  his 
articles  of  church-discipline.  Doomed  by  his  own  choice, 
therefore,  as  Mr.  Dimmesdale  so  evidently  was,  to  eat 
his  unsavory  morsel  always  at  another's  board,  and  en-* 
dure  the  life-long  chill  which  must  be  his  lot  who  seeks 
to  warm  himself  only  at  another's  fireside,  it  truly  seemed 
that  this  sagacious,  experienced,  benevolent  old  physi- 


THE    LEECH. 

cian,  with  his  concord  of  paternal  and  reverential  love 
for  the  young  pastor,  was  the  very  man,  of  all  mankind, 
to  be  constantly  within  reach  of  his  voice. 

The  new  abode  of  the  two  friends  was  with  a  pious 
widow,  of  good  social  rank,  who  dwelt  in  a  house  cover 
ing  pretty  nearly  the  site  on  which  the  venerable  struc 
ture  of  King's  Chapel  has  since  been  built.  It  had  the 
graveyard,  originally  Isaac  Johnson's  home-field,  on  one 
side,  and  so  was  well  adapted  to  call  up  serious  reflec 
tions,  suited  to  their  respective  employments,  in  both 
minister  and  man  of  physic.  The  motherly  care  of  the 
good  widow  assigned  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale  a  front  apart 
ment,  with  a  sunny  exposure,  and  heavy  window-curtains, 
to  create  a  noontide  shadow,  when  desirable.  The  walls 
were  hung  round  with  tapestry,  said  to  be  from  the 
Gobelin  looms,  and,  at  all  events,  representing  the  Scrip 
tural  story  of  David  and  Bathsheba,  and  Nathan  the 
Prophet,  in  colors  still  unfaded,  but  which  made  the  fair 
woman  of  the  scene  almost  as  grimly  picturesque  as  the 
woe-denouncing  seer.  Here,  the  pale  clergyman  piled 
up  his  library,  rich  with  parchment-bound  folios  of  the 
Fathers,  and  the  lore  of  Rabbis,  and  monkish  erudition, 
of  which  the  Protestant  divines,  even  while  they  vilified 
and  decried  that  class  of  writers,  were  yet  constrained 
often  to  avail  themselves.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
house,  old  Roger  Chillingworth  arranged  his  study  and 
laboratory ;  not  such  as  a  modern  man  of  science  would 
reckon  even  tolerably  complete,  but  provided  with  a  dis 
tilling  apparatus,  and  the  means  of  compounding  drugs 
and  chemicals,  which  the  practised  alchemist  knew  well 
how  to  turn  to  purpose.  With  such  commodiousness 
of  situation,  these  two  learned  persons  sat  themselves 
down,  each  in  his  own  domain,  yet  familiarly  passing 
from  one  apartment  to  the  other,  and  bestowing  a 


144         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

mutual  and  not  incurious  inspection  into  one  another's 
business. 

And  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale's  best  discern 
ing  friends,  as  we  have  intimated,  very  reasonably  im 
agined  that  the  hand  of  Providence  had  done  all  this,  for 
the  purpose  —  besought  in  so  many  public,  and  domestic, 
and  secret  prayers  —  of  restoring  the  young  minister  to 
health.  But  —  it  must  now  be  said  —  another  portion 
of  the  community  had  latterly  begun  to  take  its  own  view 
of  the  relation  betwixt  Mr.  Dimmesdale  and  the  myste 
rious  old  physician.  When  an  uninstructed  multitude 
attempts  to  see  with  its  eyes,  it  is  exceedingly  apt  to  be 
deceived.  When,  however,  it  forms  its  judgment,  as  it 
usually  does,  on  the  intuitions  of  its  great  and  warm 
heart,  the  conclusions  thus  attained  are  often  so  profound 
and  so  unerring,  as  to  possess  the  character  of  truths 
supernaturally  revealed.  The  people,  in  the  case  of 
which  we  speak,  could  justify  its  prejudice  against  Roger 
Chillmgworth  by  no  fact  or  argument  worthy  of  serious 
refutation.  There  was  an  aged  handicraftsman,  it  is 
true,  who  had  been  a  citizen  of  London  at  the  period  of 
Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  murder,  now  some  thirty  years 
agone ;  he  testified  to  having  seen  the  physician,  under 
some  other  name,  which  the  narrator  of  the  story  had 
now  forgotten,  in  company  with  Doctor  Forman,  the 
famous  old  conjurer,  who  was  implicated  in  the  affair  of 
Overbury.  Two  or  three  individuals  hinted,  that  the 
man  of  skill,  during  his  Indian  captivity,  had  enlarged 
his  medical  attainments  by  joining  in  the  incantations 
of  the  savage  priests ;  who  were  universally  acknowl 
edged  to  be  powerful  enchanters,  often  performing  seem 
ingly  miraculous  cures  by  their  skill  in  the  black  art. 
A  large  number  —  and  many  of  these  were  persons  of 
such  sober  sense  and  practical  observation  that  their 


THE    LEECH.  145 

opinions  would  have  been  valuable,  in  other  matters  — 
affirmed  that  Roger  Chillingworth's  aspect  had  under 
gone  a  remarkable  change  while  he  had  dwelt  in  town, 
and  especially  since  his  abode  with  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 
At  first,  his  expression  had  been  calm,  meditative,  scholar- 
like.  Now,  there  was  something  ugly  and  evil  in  his 
face,  which  they  had  not  previously  noticed,  and  which 
grew  still  the  more  obvious  to  sight,  the  oftener  they 
looked  upon  him.  According  to  the  vulgar  idea,  the 
fire  in  his  laboratory  had  been  brought  from  the  lower 
regions,  and  was  fed  with  infernal  fuel ;  and  so,  as  might 
be  expected,  his  visage  was  getting  sooty  with  the  smoke. 

To  sum  up  the  matter,  it  grew  to  be  a  widely  diffused 
opinion,  that  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  like 
many  other  personages  of  especial  sanctity,  in  all  ages 
of  the  Christian  world,  was  haunted  either  by  Satan 
himself,  or  Satan's  emissary,  in  the  guise  of  old  Roger 
Chillingworth.  This  diabolical  agent  had  the  Divine 
permission,  for  a  season,  to  burrow  into  the  clergyman's 
intimacy,  and  plot  against  his  soul.  No  sensible  man, 
it  was  confessed,  could  doubt  on  which  side  the  victory 
would  turn.  The  people  looked,  with  an  unshaken  hope, 
to  see  the  minister  come  forth  out  of  the  conflict,  trans 
figured  with  the  glory  which  he  would  unquestionably 
win.  Meanwhile,  nevertheless,  it  was  sad  to  think  of 
the  perchance  mortal  agony  through  which  he  must 
struggle  towards  his  triumph. 

Alas  !  to  judge  from  the  gloom  and  terror  in  the  depths 
of  the  poor  minister's  eyes,  the  battle  was  a  sore  one  and 
the  victory  anything  but  secure. 


X. 


THE  LEECH  AND  HIS  PATIENT, 


LD  Roger  Chillingworth,  throughout  life,  had 
been  calm  in  temperament,  kindly,  though  not 
of  warm  affections,  but  ever,  and  in  all  his  rela 
tions  with  the  world,  a  pure  and  upright  man.  He  had 
begun  an  investigation,  as  he  imagined,  with  the  severe 
and  equal  integrity  of  a  judge,  desirous  only  of  truth, 
even  as  if  the  question  involved  no  more  than  the  air- 
drawn  lines  and  figures  of  a  geometrical  problem,  instead 
of  human  passions,  and  wrongs  inflicted  on  himself.  But, 
as  he  proceeded,  a  terrible  fascination,  a  kind  of  fierce, 
though  still  calm,  necessity  seized  the  old  man  within  its 
gripe,  and  never  set  him  free  again,  until  he  had  done  all 
its  bidding.  He  now  dug  into  the  poor  clergyman's 
heart,  like  a  miner  searching  for  gold ;  or,  rather,  like  a 
sexton  delving  into  a  grave,  possibly  in  quest  of  a  jewel 
that  had  been  buried  on  the  dead  man's  bosom,  but  likely 
to  find  nothing  save  mortality  and  corruption.  Alas  for 
his  own  soul,  if  these  were  what  he  sought ! 

Sometimes,  a  light  glimmered  out  of  the  physician's 
eyes,  burning  blue  and  ominous,  like  the  reflection  of  a 
furnace,  or,  let  us  say,  like  one  of  those  gleams  of  ghastly 
fire  that  darted  from  Bunyan's  awful  doorway  in  the 


THE    LEECH    AND    HIS    PATIENT.  147 

hillside,  and  quivered  on  the  pilgrim's  face.  The  soil 
•where  this  dark  miner  was  working  had  perchance  shown 
indications  that  encouraged  him. 

"This  man,"  said  he,  at  one  such  moment,  to  himself, 
"pure  as  they  deem  him, — all  spiritual  as  he  seems,— 
hath  inherited  a  strong  animal  nature  from  his  father  or 
his  mother.  Let  us  dig  a  little  further  in  the  direction 
of  this  vein  !  " 

Then,  after  long  search  into  the  minister's  dim  interior, 
and  turning  over  many  precious  materials,  in  the  shape 
of  high  aspirations  for  the  welfare  of  his  race,  warm  love 
of  souls,  pure  sentiments,  natural  piety,  strengthened  by 
thought  and  study,  and  illuminated  by  revelation,  —  all 
of  which  invaluable  gold  was  perhaps  no  better  than  rub 
bish  to  the  seeker,  —  he  would  turn  back,  discouraged, 
and  begin  his  quest  towards  another  point.  He  groped 
along  as  stealthily,  with  as  cautious  a  tread,  and  as  wary 
an  outlook,  as  a  thief  entering  a  chamber  where  a  man 
lies  only  half  asleep,  —  or,  it  may  be,  broad  awake,  — 
with  purpose  to  steal  the  very  treasure  which  this  man 
guards  as  the  apple  of  his  eye.  In  spite  of  his  premedi 
tated  carefulness,  the  floor  would  now  and  then  creak; 
his  garments  would  rustle ;  the  shadow  of  his  presence, 
in  a  forbidden  proximity,  would  be  thrown  across  his 
victim.  In  other  words,  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  whose  sensi 
bility  of  nerve  often  produced  the  effect  of  spiritual  in 
tuition,  would  become  vaguely  aware  that  something 
inimical  to  his  peace  had  thrust  itself  into  relation  with 
him.  But  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  too,  had  perceptions 
that  were  almost  intuitive  ;  and  when  the  minister  threw 
his  startled  eyes  towards  him,  there  the  physician  sat; 
his  kind,  watchful,  sympathizing,  but  never  intrusive 
friend. 

Yet  Mr.  Dimmesdale  would  perhaps  have  seen  this 


148         THE  SCARLET  LETTEB. 

individual's  character  more  perfectly,  if  a  certain  mor 
bidness,  to  which  sick  hearts  are  liable,  had  not  rendered 
him  suspicious  of  all  mankind.  Trusting  no  man  as  his 
friend,  he  could  not  recognize  his  enemy  when  the  latter 
actually  appeared.  He  therefore  still  kept  up  a  familiar 
intercourse  with  him,  daily  receiving  the  old  physician  in 
his  study ;  or  visiting  the  laboratory,  and,  for  recreation's 
sake,  watching  the  processes  by  which  weeds  were  con 
verted  into  drugs  of  potency. 

One  day,  leaning  his  forehead  on  his  hand,  and  his 
elbow  on  the  sill  of  the  open  window,  that  looked  towards 
the  graveyard,  he  talked  with  Roger  Chillingworth,  while 
the  old  man  was  examining  a  bundle  of  unsightly  plants. 

"  Where,"  asked  he,  with  a  look  askance  at  them,  — 
for  it  was  the  clergyman's  peculiarity  that  he  seldom, 
nowadays,  looked  straightforth  at  any  object,  whether 
human  or  inanimate,  —  "  where,  my  kind  doctor,  did  you 
gather  those  herbs,  with  such  a  dark,  flabby  leaf  ?  " 

"  Even  in  the  graveyard  here  at  hand,"  answered  the 
physician,  continuing  his  employment.  "  They  are  new 
to  me.  I  found  them  growing  on  a  grave,  which  bore 
no  tombstone,  nor  other  memorial  of  the  dead  man,  save 
these  ugly  weeds,  that  have  taken  upon  themselves  to 
keep  him  in  remembrance.  They  grew  out  of  his  heart, 
and  typify,  it  may  be,  some  hideous  secret  that  was  buried 
with  him,  and  which  he  had  done  better  to  confess  during 
his  lifetime." 

"  Perchance,"  said  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  "  he  earnestly  de 
sired  it,  but  could  not." 

"  And  wherefore  ?  "  rejoined  the  physician.  "  Where 
fore  not ;  since  all  the  powers  of  nature  call  so  earnestly 
for  the  confession  of  sin,  that  these  black  weeds  have 
sprung  up  out  of  a  buried  heart,  to  make  manifest  an 
unspoken  crime  ?" 


THE    LEECH   ART)    HIS    PATIENT.  149 

"  That,  good  Sir,  is  but  a  fantasy  of  yours,"  replied 
the  minister.  "  There  can  be,  if  I  forebode  aright,  no 
power,  short  of  the  Divine  mercy,  to  disclose,  whether 
by  uttered  words,  or  by  type  or  emblem,  the  secrets  that 
may  be  buried  with  a  human  heart.  The  heart,  making 
itself  guilty  of  such  secrets,  must  perforce  hold  them, 
until  the  day  when  all  hidden  things  shall  be  revealed. 
Nor  have  I  so  read  or  interpreted  Holy  Writ,  as  to 
understand  that  the  disclosure  of  human  thoughts  and 
deeds,  then  to  be  made,  is  intended  as  a  part  of  the  retri 
bution.  That,  surely,  were  a  shallow  view  of  it.  No ; 
these  revelations,  unless  I  greatly  err,  are  meant  merely 
to  promote  the  intellectual  satisfaction  of  all  intelligent 
beings,  who  will  stand  waiting,  on  that  day,  to  see  the 
dark  problem  of  this  life  made  plain.  A  knowledge  of 
men's  hearts  will  be  needful  to  the  completest  solution 
of  that  problem.  And  I  conceive,  moreover,  that  the 
hearts  holding  such  miserable  secrets  as  you  speak  of 
will  yield  them  up,  at  that  last  day,  not  with  reluctance, 
but  with  a  joy  unutterable." 

"  Then  why  not  reveal  them  here  ? "  asked  Roger 
Chillingworth,  glancing  quietly  aside  at  the  minister. 
"Why  should  not  the  guilty  ones  sooner  avail  them 
selves  of  this  unutterable  solace?" 

"  They  mostly  do,"  said  the  clergyman,  griping  hard 
at  his  breast  as  if  afflicted  with  an  importunate  throb  of 
pain.  "Many,  many  a  poor  soul  hath  given  its  confi 
dence  to  me,  not  only  on  the  death-bed,  but  while  strong 
in  life,  and  fair  in  reputation.  And  ever,  after  such  an 
outpouring,  O,  what  a  relief  have  I  witnessed  in  those 
sinful  brethren  !  even  as  in  one  who  at  last  draws  free 
air,  after  long  stifling  with  his  own  polluted  breath. 
How  can  it  be  otherwise?  Why  should  a  wretched 
man,  guilty,  we  will  say,  of  murder,  prefer  to  keep  the 


150  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

dead  corpse  buried  in  his  own  heart,  rather  than  fling  it 
forth  at  once,  and  let  the  universe  take  care  of  it !  " 

"  Yet  some  men  bury  their  secrets  thus,"  observed  the 
calm  physician. 

"  True ;  there  are  such  men,"  answered  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale.  "  But,  not  to  suggest  more  obvious  reasons,  it 
may  be  that  they  are  kept  silent  by  the  very  constitution 
of  their  nature.  Or,  —  can  we  not  suppose  it  ?  —  guilty 
as  they  may  be,  retaining,  nevertheless,  a  zeal  for  God's 
glory  and  man's  welfare,  they  shrink  from  displaying 
themselves  black  and  filthy  in  the  view  of  men ;  be 
cause,  thenceforward,  no  good  can  be  achieved  by  them  ; 
no  evil  of  the  past  be  redeemed  by  better  service.  So, 
to  their  own  unutterable  torment,  they  go  about  among 
their  fellow-creatures,  looking  pure  as  new-fallen  snow 
while  their  hearts  are  all  speckled  and  spotted  with 
iniquity  of  which  they  cannot  rid  themselves." 

"  These  men  deceive  themselves,"  said  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth,  with  somewhat  more  emphasis  than  usual, 
and  making  a  slight  gesture  with  his  forefinger.  "  They 
fear  to  take  up  the  shame  that  rightfully  belongs  to  them. 
Their  love  for  man,  their  zeal  for  God's  service,  —  thest 
holy  impulses  may  or  may  not  coexist  in  their  hearts 
with  the  evil  inmates  to  which  their  guilt  has  unbarred 
the  door,  and  which  must  needs  propagate  a  hellish  breed 
within  them.  But,  if  they  seek  to  glorify  God,  let  them 
tiot  lift  heavenward  their  unclean  hands !  If  they 
would  serve  their  fellow-men,  let  them  do  it  by  making 
manifest  the  power  and  reality  of  conscience,  in  con 
straining  them  to  penitential  self-abasement  !  Wouldst 
thou  have  me  to  believe,  O  wise  and  pious  friend,  that  a 
false  show  can  be  better  —  can  be  more  for  God's  glory, 
or  man's  welfare  —  than  God's  own  truth  ?  Trust  me, 
such  men  deceive  themselves  !  " 


THE    LEECH   AND    HIS    PATIENT.  151 

"  It  may  be  so/'  said  the  young  clergyman,  indiffer 
ently,  as  waiving  a  discussion  that  he  considered  irrele 
vant  or  unseasonable.  He  had  a  ready  faculty,  indeed, 
of  escaping  from  any  topic  that  agitated  his  too  sensitive 
and  nervous  temperament.  —  "  But,  now,  I  would  ask 
of  my  well-skilled  physician,  whether,  in  good  sooth,  he 
deems  me  to  have  profited  by  his  kindly  care  of  this 
weak  frame  of  mine  ?  " 

Before  Roger  Chillingworth  could  answer,  they  heard 
the  clear,  wild  laughter  of  a  young  child's  voice,  pro 
ceeding  from  the  adjacent  burial-ground.  Looking 
instinctively  from  the  open  window,  —  for  it  was  sum 
mer-time, —  the  minister  beheld  Hester  Prynne  and 
little  Pearl  passing  along  the  footpath  that  traversed  the 
enclosure.  Pearl  looked  as  beautiful  as  the  day,  but 
was  in  one  of  those  moods  of  perverse  merriment 
which,  whenever  they  occurred,  seemed  to  remove  her 
entirely  out  of  the  sphere  of  sympathy  or  human  contact. 
She  now  skipped  irreverently  from  one  grave  to  another ; 
until,  coming  to  the  broad,  flat,  armorial  tombstone  of  a 
departed  worthy,  —  perhaps  of  Isaac  Johnson  himself,  — 
she  began  to  dance  upon  it.  In  reply  to  her  mother's 
command  and  entreaty  that  she  would  behave  more 
decorously,  little  Pearl  paused  to  gather  the  prickly 
burrs  from  a  tall  burdock  which  grew  beside  the  tomb. 
Taking  a  handful  of  these,  she  arranged  them  along  the 
lines  of  the  scarlet  letter  that  decorated  the  maternal 
bosom,  to  which  the  burrs,  as  their  nature  was,  tena 
ciously  adhered.  Hester  did  not  pluck  them  off. 

Roger  Chillingworth  had  by  this  time  approached  the 
window,  and  smiled  grimly  down. 

"  There  is  no  law,  nor  reverence  for  authority,  no 
regard  for  human  ordinances  or  opinions,  right  or  wrong, 
mixed  up  with  that  child's  composition/'  remarked  he, 


152         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

as  much  to  himself  as  to  his  companion.  "  I  saw  her, 
the  other  day,  bespatter  the  Governor  himself  with 
water,  at  the  cattle-trough  in  Spring  Lane.  What,  in 
Heaven's  name,  is  she  ?  Is  the  imp  altogether  evil  ? 
Hath  she  affections  ?  Hath  she  any  discoverable  princi 
ple  of  being  ?  " 

"  None,  —  save  the  freedom  of  a  broken  law,"  an 
swered  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  in  a  quiet  way,  as  if  he  had 
been  discussing  the  point  within  himself.  "  Whether 
capable  of  good,  I  know  not." 

The  child  probably  overheard  their  voices ;  for,  look 
ing  up  to  the  window,  with  a  bright,  but  naughty  smile 
of  mirth  and  intelligence,  she  threw  one  of  the  prickly 
burrs  at  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  The  sensitive 
clergyman  shrunk,  with  nervous  dread,  from  the  light 
missile.  Detecting  his  emotion,  Pearl  clapped  her  little 
hands,  in  the  most  extravagant  ecstasy.  Hester  Prynne, 
likewise,  had  involuntarily  looked  up ;  and  all  these  four 
persons,  old  and  young,  regarded  one  another  in  silence, 
till  the  child  laughed  aloud,  and  shouted, —  "Come 
away,  mother !  Come  away,  or  yonder  old  Black  Man 
will  catch  you !  He  hath  got  hold  of  the  minister  al 
ready.  Come  away,  mother,  or  he  will  catch  you !  But 
he  cannot  catch  little  Pearl !  " 

So  she  drew  her  mother  away,  skipping,  dancing,  and 
frisking  fantastically,  among  the  hillocks  of  the  dead 
people,  like  a  creature  that  had  nothing  in  common  with 
a  bygone  and  buried  generation,  nor  owned  herself  akin 
to  it  It  was  as  if  she  had  been  made  afresh,  out  of  new 
elements,  and  must  perforce  be  permitted  to  live  her  own 
life,  and  be  a  law  unto  herself,  without  her  eccentricities 
being  reckoned  to  her  for  a  crime. 

"There  goes  a  woman,"  resumed  Roger  Chilling- 
worth,  after  a  pause,  f '  who,  be  her  demerits  what  they 


THE  LEECH  AND  HIS  PATIENT.     153 

may,  hath  none  of  that  mystery  of  hidden  sinfulness 
which  you  deem  so  grievous  to  be  borne.  Is  Hester 
Prynne  the  less  miserable,  think  you,  for  that  scarlet 
letter  on  her  breast  ?  " 

"I  do  verily  believe  it,"  answered  the  clergyman. 
"Nevertheless,  I  cannot  answer  for  her.  There  was  a 
look  of  pain  in  her  face,  which  I  would  gladly  have  been 
spared  the  sight  of.  But  still,  methinks,  it  must  needs 
be  better  for  the  sufferer  to  be  free  to  show  his  pain,  as 
this  poor  woman  Hester  is,  than  to  cover  it  all  up  in  his 
heart." 

There  was  another  pause;  and  the  physician  began 
anew  to  examine  and  arrange  the  plants  which  he  had 
gathered. 

"You  inquired  of  me,  a  little  time  agone,"  said  he, 
at  length,  "  my  judgment  as  touching  your  health." 

"  I  did,"  answered  the  clergyman,  "  and  would  gladly 
learn  it.  Speak  frankly,  I  pray  you,  be  it  for  life  or 
death." 

"Freely,  then,  and  plainly,"  said  the  physician,  still 
busy  with  his  plants,  but  keeping  a  wary  eye  on  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  "  the  disorder  is  a  strange  one ;  not  so 
much  in  itself,  nor  as  outwardly  manifested, — in  so 
far,  at  least,  as  the  symptoms  have  been  laid  open  to 
my  observation.  Looking  daily  at  you,  my  good  Sir, 
and  watching  the  tokens  of  your  aspect,  now  for  months 
gone  by,  I  should  deem  you  a  man  sore  sick,  it  may  be, 
yet  not  so  sick  but  that  an  instructed  and  watchful  phy 
sician  might  well  hope  to  cure  you.  But  —  I  know  not 
what  to  say  —  the  disease  is  what  I  seem  to  know,  yet 
know  it  not." 

"You  speak  in  riddles,  learned  Sir,"  said  the  pale 
minister,  glancing  aside  out  of  the  window. 

"Then,  to  speak  more  plainly,"  continued  the  phy- 
7* 


154  THE    SCA11LET    LETTEE. 

sician,  "  and  I  crave  pardon,  Sir,  —  should  it  seem  to 
require  pardon,  —  for  this  needful  plainness  of  my  speech. 
Let  me  ask,  —  as  your  friend,  —  as  one  having  charge, 
under  Providence,  of  your  life  and  physical  well-being, 
—  hath  all  the  operation  of  this  disorder  been  fairly  laid 
open  and  recounted  to  me  ?  " 

"How  can  you  question  it?"  asked  the  minister. 
"  Surely,  it  were  child's  play,  to  call  in  a  physician,  and 
then  hide  the  sore  !  " 

"  You  would  tell  me,  then,  that  I  know  all  ?  "  said 
Roger  Chillingworth,  deliberately,  and  fixing  an  eye, 
bright  with  intense  and  concentrated  intelligence,  on 
the  minister's  face.  "Be  it  so!  But,  again!  He  to 
whom  only  the  outward  and  physical  evil  is  laid  open, 
knoweth,  oftentimes,  but  half  the  evil  which  he  is  called 
upon  to  cure.  A  bodily  disease,  which  we  look  upon 
as  whole  and  entire  within  itself,  may,  after  all,  be  but 
a  symptom  of  some  ailment  in  the  spiritual  part.  Your 
pardon,  once  again,  good  Sir,  if  my  speech  give  the 
shadow  of  offence.  You,  Sir,  of  all  men  whom  I  have 
known,  are  he  whose  body  is  the  closest  conjoined,  and 
imbued,  and  identified,  so  to  speak,  with  the  spirit 
whereof  it  is  the  instrument." 

"Then  I  need  ask  no  further,"  said  the  clergyman, 
somewhat  hastily  rising  from  his  chair.  "You  deal  not, 
I  take  it,  in  medicine  for  the  soul !  " 

"Thus,  a  sickness,"  continued  Roger  Chillingworth, 
going  on,  in  an  unaltered  tone,  without  heeding  thf 
interruption,  —  but  standing  up,  and  confronting  the 
emaciated  and  white-cheeked  minister,  with  his  low,  dark, 
and  misshapen  figure,  —  "a  sickness,  a  sore  place,  if  we 
may  so  call  it,  in  your  spirit,  hath  immediately  its  appro 
priate  manifestation  in  your  bodily  frame.  Would  you, 
therefore,  that  your  physician  heal  the  bodily  evil  ?  How 


THE  LEECH  AND  HIS  PATIENT.      155 

may  this  be,  unless  you  first  lay  open  to  him  the  wound 
or  trouble  in  your  soul  ?  " 

"  No !  —  not  to  thee !  —  not  to  an  earthly  physician !  " 
cried  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  passionately,  and  turning  his 
eyes,  full  and  bright,  and  with  a  kind  of  fierceness,  on 
old  Roger  Chillingworth.  "  Not  to  thee  !  But,  if  it  be 
the  soul's  disease,  then  do  I  commit  myself  to  the  one 
Physician  of  the  soul!  He,  if  it  stand  with  his  good 
pleasure,  can  cure;  or  he  can  kill!  Let  him  do  with 
me  as,  in  his  justice  and  wisdom,  he  shall  see  good. 
But  who  art  thou,  that  meddlest  in  this  matter? — that 
dares  thrust  himself  between  the  sufferer  and  his  God  ?  " 

With  a  frantic  gesture  he  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

"It  is  as  well  to  have  made  this  step,"  said  Roger 
Chillingworth  to  himself,  looking  after  the  minister  with 
a  grave  smile.  "  There  is  nothing  lost.  We  shall  be 
friends  again  anon.  But  see,  now,  how  passion  takes 
hold  upon  this  man,  and  hurrieth  him  out  of  himself! 
As  with  one  passion,  so  with  another !  He  hath  done 
a  wild  thing  erenow,  this  pious  Master  Dimmesdale,  in 
the  hot  passion  of  his  heart !  " 

It  proved  not  difficult  to  re-establish  the  intimacy  of 
the  two  companions,  on  the  same  footing  and  in  the 
same  degree  as  heretofore.  The  young  clergyman,  after 
a  few  hours  of  privacy,  was  sensible  that  the  disorder  of 
his  nerves  had  hurried  him  into  an  unseemly  outbreak  of 
temper,  which  there  had  been  nothing  in  the  physician's 
words  to  excuse  or  palliate.  He  marvelled,  indeed,  at 
the  violence  with  which  he  had  thrust  back  the  kind  old 
man,  when  merely  proffering  the  advice  which  it  was  his 
duty  to  bestow,  and  which  the  minister  himself  had  ex 
pressly  sought.  With  these  remorseful  feelings,  he  lost 
no  time  in  making  the  amplest  apologies,  and  besought 
hi*  friend  still  to  continue  the  care,  which,  if  not  sue- 


156         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

cessful  in  restoring  him  to  health,  had,  in  all  probability, 
been  the  means  of  prolonging  his  feeble  existence  to  that 
hour.  Roger  Chillingworth  readily  assented,  and  went 
on  with  his  medical  supervision  of  the  minister ;  doing 
his  best  for  him,  in  all  good  faith,  but  always  quitting 
the  patient's  apartment,  at  the  close  of  a  professional 
interview,  with  a  mysterious  and  puzzled  smile  upon  his 
lips.  This  expression  was  invisible  in  Mr.  Dimmesdale's 
presence,  but  grew  strongly  evident  as  the  physician 
crossed  the  threshold. 

"  A  rare  case  ! "  he  muttered.  "  I  must  needs  look 
deeper  into  it.  A  strange  sympathy  betwixt  soul  and 
body !  Were  it  only  for  the  art's  sake,  I  must  search 
this  matter  to  the  bottom !  " 

It  came  to  pass,  not  long  after  the  scene  above  re 
corded,  that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  at  noonday, 
and  entirely  unawares,  fell  into  a  deep,  deep  slumber, 
sitting  in  his  chair,  with  a  large  black-letter  volume  open 
before  him  on  the  table.  It  must  have  been  a  work  of 
vast  ability  in  the  somniferous  school  of  literature.  The 
profound  depth  of  the  minister's  repose  was  the  more 
remarkable,  inasmuch  as  he  was  one  of  those  persons 
whose  sleep,  ordinarily,  is  as  light,  as  fitful,  and  as  easily 
scared  away,  as  a  small  bird  hopping  on  a  twig.  To 
such  an  unwonted  remoteness,  however,  had  his  spirit 
now  withdrawn  into  itself,  that  he  stirred  not  in  his 
chair,  when  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  without  any  ex- 
Iraordinary  precaution,  came  into  the  room.  The  phy 
sician  advanced  directly  in  front  of  his  patient,  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  bosom,  and  thrust  aside  the  vestment, 
that,  hitherto,  had  always  covered  it  even  from  the  pro 
fessional  eye. 

Then,  indeed,  Mr.  Dimmesdale  shuddered,  and  slightly 
stirred. 


THE    LEECH   AND    HIS    PATIENT.  157 

After  a  brief  pause,  the  physician  turned  away. 

But,  with  what  a  wild  look  of  wonder,  joy,  and  hor 
ror!  With  what  a  ghastly  rapture,  as  it  were,  too 
mighty  to  be  expressed  only  by  the  eye  and  features, 
and  therefore  bursting  forth  through  the  whole  ugliness 
of  his  figure,  and  making  itself  even  riotously  manifest 
by  the  extravagant  gestures  with  which  he  threw  up  his 
arms  towards  the  ceiling,  and  stamped  his  foot  upon  the 
floor !  Had  a  man  seen  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  at 
that  moment  of  his  ecstasy,  he  would  have  had  no  need 
to  ask  how  Satan  comports  himself,  when  a  precious 
human  soul  is  lost  to  heaven,  and  won  into  his  kingdom. 

But  what  distinguished  the  physician's  ecstasy  from 
Satan's  was  the  trait  of  wonder  in  it! 


XI. 

THE    INTERIOR    OF    A    HEART. 

|FTER  the  incident  last  described,  the  inter 
course  between  the  clergyman  and  the  physician, 
though  externally  the  same,  was  really  of  an 
other  character  than  it  had  previously  been.  The  intel 
lect  of  Roger  Chillingworth  had  now  a  sufficiently  plain 
path  before  it.  It  was  not,  indeed,  precisely  that  which 
he  had  laid  out  for  himself  to  tread.  Calm,  gentle,  pas 
sionless,  as  he  appeared,  there  was  yet,  we  fear,  a  quiet 
depth  of  malice,  hitherto  latent,  but  active  now,  in  this 
unfortunate  old  man,  which  led  him  to  imagine  a  more 
intimate  revenge  than  any  mortal  had  ever  wreaked  upon 
an  enemy.  To  make  himself  the  one  trusted  friend,  to 
whom  should  be  confided  all  the  fear,  the  remorse,  the 
agony,  the  ineffectual  repentance,  the  backward  rush  of 
sinful  thoughts,  expelled  in  vain  !  All  that  guilty  sorrow, 
hidden  from  the  world,  whose  great  heart  would  have 
pitied  and  forgiven,  to  be  revealed  to  him,  the  Pitiless, 
to  him,  the  Unforgiving !  All  that  dark  treasure  to  be 
lavished  on  the  very  man,  to  whom  nothing  else  could  so 
adequately  pay  the  debt  of  vengeance  ! 

The  clergyman's  shy  and  sensitive  reserve  had  balked 
this   scheme.      Roger  Chillingworth,  however,  was   in- 


THE    INTERIOR   OF   A   HEART. 

clined  to  be  hardly,  if  at  all,  less  satisfied  with  the  aspect 
of  affairs,  which  Providence  —  using  the  avenger  and  his 
victim  for  its  own  purposes,  and,  perchance,  pardoning 
where  it  seemed  most  to  punish  —  had  substituted  for 
his  black  devices.  A  revelation,  he  could  almost  say, 
had  been  granted  to  him.  It  mattered  little,  for  his  ob 
ject,  whether  celestial,  or  from  what  other  region.  By 
its  aid,  in  all  the  subsequent  relations  betwixt  him  and 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  not  merely  the  external  presence,  but 
the  very  inmost  soul,  of  the  latter,  seemed  to  be  brought 
out  before  his  eyes,  so  that  he  could  see  and  comprehend 
its  every  movement.  He  became,  thenceforth,  not  a 
spectator  only,  but  a  chief  actor,  in  the  poor  minister's 
interior  world.  He  could  play  upon  him  as  he  chose. 
Would  he  arouse  him  with  a  throb  of  agony  ?  The  vic 
tim  was  forever  on  the  rack ;  it  needed  only  to  know  the 
spring  that  controlled  the  engine ;  —  and  the  physician 
knew  it  well !  Would  he  startle  him  with  sudden  fear  ? 
As  at  the  waving  of  a  magician's  wand,  uprose  a  grisly 
phantom,  —  uprose  a  thousand  phantoms,  —  in  many 
shapes,  of  death,  or  more  awful  shame,  all  flocking 
round  about  the  clergyman,  and  pointing  with  their 
fingers  at  his  breast! 

All  this  was  accomplished  with  a  subtlety  so  perfect, 
that  the  minister,  though  he  had  constantly  a  dim  per 
ception  of  some  evil  influence  watching  over  him,  could 
never  gain  a  knowledge  of  its  actual  nature.  True,  he 
looked  doubtfully,  fearfully,  —  even,  at  times,  with  horror 
and  tiie  bitterness  of  hatred,  —  at  the  deformed  figure 
of  the  old  physician.  His  gestures,  his  gait,  his  grizzled 
beard,  his  slightest  and  most  indifferent  acts,  the  very 
fashion  of  his  garments,  were  odious  in  the  clergyman's 
sight;  a  token  implicitly  to  be  relied  on,  of  a  deeper 
antipathy  in  the  breast  of  the  latter  than  he  was  willing 


160  THE    SCAELET    LETTER. 

to  acknowledge  to  himself.  For,  as  it  was  impossible  to 
assign  a  reason  for  such  distrust  and  abhorrence,  so  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  conscious  that  the  poison  of  one  morbid 
spot  was  infecting  his  heart's  entire  substance,  attributed 
all  his  presentiments  to  no  other  cause.  He  took  him 
self  to  task  for  his  bad  sympathies  in  reference  to  Roger 
Chillingworth,  disregarded  the  lesson  that  he  should  have 
drawn  from  them,  and  did  his  best  to  root  them  out. 
Unable  to  accomplish  this,  he  nevertheless,  as  a  matter 
of  principle,  continued  his  habits  of  social  familiarity 
with  the  old  man,  and  thus  gave  him  constant  opportu 
nities  for  perfecting  the  purpose  to  which  —  poor,  forlorn 
creature  that  he  was,  and  more  wretched  than  his  victim 
—  the  avenger  had  devoted  himself. 

While  thus  suffering  under  bodily  disease,  and  gnawed 
and  tortured  by  some  black  trouble  of  the  soul,  and  given 
over  to  the  machinations  of  his  deadliest  enemy,  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  achieved  a  brilliant  pop 
ularity  in  his  sacred  office.  He  won  it,  indeed,  in  great 
part,  by  his  sorrows.  His  intellectual  gifts,  his  moral 
perceptions,  his  power  of  experiencing  and  communi 
cating  emotion,  were  kept  in  a  state  of  preternatural 
activity  by  the  prick  and  anguish  of  his  daily  life.  His 
fame,  though  still  on  its  upward  slope,  already  over 
shadowed  the  soberer  reputations  of  his  fellow-clergy 
men,  eminent  as  several  of  them  were.  There  were 
scholars  among  them,  who  had  spent  more  years  in  ac 
quiring  abstruse  lore,  connected  with  the  divine  pro 
fession,  than  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  lived ;  and  who  might 
well,  therefore,  be  more  profoundly  versed  in  such  solid 
and  valuable  attainments  than  their  youthful  brother. 
There  were  men,  too,  of  a  sturdier  texture  of  mind  than 
his,  and  endowed  with  a  far  greater  share  of  shrewd, 
hard,  iron,  or  granite  understanding ;  which,  duly  mingled 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A    HEART.  161 

with  a  fair  proportion  of  doctrinal  ingredient,  constitutes 
a  highly  respectable,  efficacious,  and  unamiable  variety 
of  the  clerical  species.  There  were  others,  again,  true 
saintly  fathers,  whose  faculties  had  been  elaborated  by 
weary  toil  among  their  books,  and  by  patient  thought, 
and  etherealized,  moreover,  by  spiritual  communications 
with  the  better  world,  into  which  their  purity  of  life  had 
almost  introduced  these  holy  personages,  with  their  gar 
ments  of  mortality  still  clinging  to  them.  All  that  they 
lacked  was  the  gift  that  descended  upon  the  chosen  dis 
ciples  at  Pentecost,  in  tongues  of  flame  ;  symbolizing,  it 
would  seem,  not  the  power  of  speech  in  foreign  and  un 
known  languages,  but  that  of  addressing  the  whole  hu 
man  brotherhood  in  the  heart's  native  language.  These 
fathers,  otherwise  so  apostolic,  lacked  Heaven's  last  and 
rarest  attestation  of  their  office,  the  Tongue  of  Mame. 
They  would  have  vainly  sought  —  had  they  ever  dreamed 
of  seeking  —  to  express  the  highest  truths  through  the 
humblest  medium  of  familiar  words  and  images.  Their 
voices  came  down,  afar  and  indistinctly,  from  the  upper 
heights  where  they  habitually  dwelt. 

Not  improbably,  it  was  to  this  latter  class  of  men  that 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  by  many  of  his  traits  of  character,  nat 
urally  belonged.  To  the  high  mountain-peaks  of  faith 
and  sanctity  he  would  have  climbed,  had  not  the  ten 
dency  been  thwarted  by  the  burden,  whatever  it  might 
be,  of  crime  or  anguish,  beneath  which  it  was  his  doom 
to  totter.  It  kept  him  down,  on  a  level  with  the  lowest ; 
him,  the  man  of  ethereal  attributes,  whose  voice  the  an 
gels  might  else  have  listened  to  and  answered  !  But  this 
very  burden  it  was,  that  gave  him  sympathies  so  intimate 
with  the  sinful  brotherhood  of  mankind ;  so  that  his 
heart  vibrated  in  unison  with  theirs,  and  received  their 
pain  into  itself,  and  sent  its  own  throb  of  pain  through  a 

K 


162         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

thousand  other  hearts,  in  gushes  of  sad,  persuasive  elo 
quence.  Oftenest  persuasive,  but  sometimes  terrible! 
The  people  knew  not  the  power  that  moved  them  thus. 
They  deemed  the  young  clergyman  a  miracle  of  holiness. 
They  fancied  him  the  mouth-piece  of  Heaven's  messages 
of  wisdom,  and  rebuke,  and  love.  In  their  eyes,  the  very 
ground  on  which  he  trod  was  sanctified.  The  virgins  of 
his  church  grew  pale  around  him,  victims  of  a  passion  so 
imbued  with  religious  sentiment  that  they  imagined  it  to 
be  all  religion,  and  brought  it  openly,  in  their  white  bos 
oms,  as  their  most  acceptable .  sacrifice  before  the  altar. 
The  aged  members  of  his  flock,  beholding  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  frame  so  feeble,  while  they  w^ere  themselves  so 
rugged  in  their  infirmity,  believed  that  he  would  go 
heavenward  before  them,  and  enjoined  it  upon  their 
children,  that  their  old  bones  should  be  buried  close  to 
their  young  pastor's  holy  grave.  And,  all  this  time, 
perchance,  when  poor  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  thinking  of 
his  grave,  he  questioned  with  himself  whether  the  grass 
would  ever  grow  on  it,  because  an  accursed  thing  must 
there  be  buried ! 

It  is  inconceivable,  the  agony  with  which  this  public 
veneration  tortured  him  !  It  was  his  genuine  impulse  to 
adore  the  truth,  and  to  reckon  all  things  shadow-like, 
and  utterly  devoid  of  weight  or  value,  that  had  not  its 
divine  essence  as  the  life  within  their  life.  Then,  what 
was  he  ?  —  a  substance  ?  —  or  the  dimmest  of  all  shad 
ows  ?  He  longed  to  speak  out,  from  his  own  pulpit,  at 
the  full  height  of  his  voice,  and  tell  the  people  what  he 
was.  "  I,  whom  you  behold  in  these  black  garments  of 
the  priesthood,  —  I,  who  ascend  the  sacred  desk,  and 
turn  my  pale  face  heavenward,  taking  upon  myself  to 
hold  communion,  in  your  behalf,  with  the  Most  High 
Omniscience, — T,  in  whose  daily  life  you  discern  the 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A    HEART.  163 

sanctity  of  Enoch,  —  I,  whose  footsteps,  as  you  suppose, 
leave  a  gleam  along  my  earthly  track,  whereby  the  pil 
grims  that  shall  come  after  me  may  be  guided  to  the 
regions  of  the  blest,  —  1,  who  have  laid  the  hand  of  bap 
tism  upon  your  children,  —  I,  who  have  breathed  the 
parting  prayer  over  your  dying  friends,  to  whom  the 
Amen  sounded  faintly  from  a  world  which  they  had 
quitted,  —  I,  your  pastor,  whom  you  so  reverence  and 
trust,  am  utterly  a  pollution  and  a  lie !  " 

More  than  once,  Mr.  Dirnmesdale  had  gone  into  the 
pulpit,  with  a  purpose  never  to  come  down  its  steps, 
until  he  should  have  spoken  words  like  the  above. 
More  than  once,  he  had  cleared  his  throat,  and  drawn 
in  the  long,  deep,  and  tremulous  breath,  which,  when 
sent  forth  again,  WOUK!  v  inie-  burdened'  -ftitf  the  black 
secret  of  his  isc/ui.  More  than  once — nay,  more  than 
a  hundred  times  —  he  had  actually  spoken !  Spoken ! 
But  how?  He  had  told  his  hearers  that  he  was  alto 
gether  vile,  a  viler  companion  of  the  vilest,  the  worst  of 
sinners,  an  abomination,  a  thing  of  unimaginable  iniquity ; 
and  that  the  only  wonder  was,  that  they  did  not  see  his 
wretched  body  shrivelled  up  before  their  eyes,  by  the 
burning  wrath  of  the  Almighty  !  Could  there  be  plainer 
speech  than  this  ?  Would  not  the  people  start  up  in 
their  seats,  by  a  simultaneous  impulse,  and  tear  him 
down  out  of  the  pulpit  which  he  defiled  ?  Not  so,  in 
deed  !  They  heard  it  all,  and  did  but  reverence  him  the 
more.  They  little  guessed  what  deadly  purport  lurked 
in  those  self-condemning  words.  "  The  godly  youth  !  " 
said  they  among  themselves.  "The  saint  on  earth! 
Alas,  if  he  discern  such  sinfulness  in  his  own  white 
soul,  what  horrid  spectacle  would  he  behold  in  thine  or 
mine  !  "  The  minister  well  knew  —  subtle,  but  remorse- 
fid  hypocrite  that  he  was  ( —  the  light  in  which  his 


164         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

vague  confession  would  be  viewed.  He  had  striven  to 
put  a  cheat  upon  himself  by  making  the  avowal  of  a 
guilty  conscience,  but  had  gained  only  one  other  siii, 
and  a  self-acknowledged  shame,  without  the  momentary 
relief  of  being  self-deceived.  He  had  spoken  the  very 
truth,  and  transformed  it  into  the  veriest  falsehood. 
And  yet,  by  the  constitution  of  his  nature,  he  loved  the 
truth,  and  loathed  the  He,  as  few  men  ever  did.  There 
fore,  above  all  things  else,  he  loathed  his  miserable  self ! 

His  inward  trouble  drove  him  to  practices  more  in 
accordance  with  the  old,  corrupted  faith  of  Rome,  than 
with  the  better  light  of  the  church  in  which  he  had  been 
born  and  bred.  In  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  secret  closet,  under 
lock  and  key,  there  was  a  bloody  scourge.  Oftentimes, 
this  Protestant' and  Puritaiui^ivine  had  plied  it  on  his 
own  Moulders;  laughing  bitterly  at  huupelf  the  while, 
and.  smiting  so  much  the  more  pitilessly  because  of  that 
bitter  laugh.  It  was  his  custom,  too,  as  it  has  been  that 
of  many  other  pious  Puritans,  to  fast,  —  not,  however, 
like  them,  in  order  to  purify  the  body  and  render  it  the 
fitter  medium  of  celestial  illumination,  but  rigorously, 
and  until  his  knees  trembled  beneath  him,  as  an  act  of 
penance.  He  kept  vigils,  likewise,  night  after  night, 
sometimes  in  utter  darkness;  sometimes  with  a  glim 
mering  lamp ;  and  sometimes,  viewing  his  own  face  in  a 
looking-glass,  by  the  most  powerful  light  which  he  could 
throw  upon  it.  He  thus  typified  the  constant  introspec 
tion  wherewith  he  tortured,  but  could  not  purify,  himself. 
In  these  lengthened  vigils,  his  brain  often  reeled,  and 
visions  seemed  to  flit  before  him ;  perhaps  seen  doubt 
fully,  and  by  a  faint  light  of  their  own,  in  the  remote 
dimness  of  the  chamber,  or  more  vividly,  and  close  beside 
him,  within  the  looking-glass.  Now  it  was  a  herd  &i 
diabolic  shapes,  that  grinned  and  mocked  at  the  pale 


THE    INTERIOR    OF   A    HEART.  1(50 

minister,  and  beckoned  him  away  with  them,  now  a 
group  of  shining  angels,  who  flew  upward  heavily,  as 
sorrow-laden,  but  grew  more  ethereal  as  they  rose.  Now 
came  the  dead  friends  of  his  youth,  and  his  white-bearded 
father,  with  a  saint-like  frown,  and  his  mother,  turning 
her  face  away  as  she  passed  by.  Ghost  of  a  mother,  — 
thinnest  fantasy  of  a  mother,  —  methinks  she  might  yet 
have  thrown  a  pitying  glance  towards  her  son !  And 
now,  through  the  chamber  which  these  spectral  thoughts 
had  made  so  ghastly,  glided  Hester  Prynne,  leading  along 
little  Pearl,  in  her  scarlet  garb,  and  pointing  her  fore 
finger,  first  at  the  scarlet  letter  on  her  bosom,  and  then 
at  the  clergyman's  own  breast. 

None  of  these  visions  ever  quite  deluded  him.  At  any 
moment,  by  an  effort  of  his  will,  he  could  discern  sub 
stances  through  their  misty  lack  of  substance,  and  con 
vince  himself  that  they  were  not  solid  in  their  nature, 
like  yonder  table  of  carved  oak,  or  that  big,  square, 
leathern-bound  and  brazen-clasped  volume  of  divinity. 
But,  for  all  that,  they  were,  in  one  sense,  the  truest  and 
most  substantial  things  which  the  poor  minister  now 
dealt  with.  It  is  the  unspeakable  misery  of  a  life  so  false 
as  his,  that  it  steals  the  pith  and  substance  out  of  what 
ever  realities  there  are  around  us,  and  which  were  meant 
by  Heaven  to  be  the  spirit's  joy  and  nutriment.  To  the 
untrue  man,  the  whole  universe  is  false,  — it  is  impalpa 
ble, —  it  shrinks  to  nothing  within  his  grasp.  And  he 
himself,  in  so  far  as  he  shows  himself  in  a  false  light, 
becomes  a  shadow,  or,  indeed,  ceases  to  exist.  The  only 
truth  that  continued  to  give  Mr.  Dimmesdale  a  real  ex 
istence  on  this  earth,  was  the  anguish  in  his  inmost  soul, 
and  the  undissembled  expression  of  it  in  his  aspect.  Had 
he  once  found  power  to  smile,  and  wear  a  face  of  gayety, 
there  would  have  been  no  such  man ! 


166 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 


On  one  of  those  ugly  nights,  which  we  have  faintly 
hinted  at,  but  forborne  to  picture  forth,  the  minister 
started  from  his  chair.  A  new  thought  had  struck 
him.  There  might  be  a  moment's  peace  in  it.  Attir 
ing  himself  with  as  much  care  as  if  it  had  been  for 
public  worship,  and  precisely  in  the  same  manner,  he 
stole  softly  down  the  staircase,  undid  the  door,  and  issued 
forth. 


XII. 
THE    MINISTER'S  VIGIL, 

jjALKING  in  the  shadow  of  a  dream,  as  it  were, 
and  perhaps  actually  under  the  influence  o/ 
a  species  of  somnambulism,  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
reached  the  spot  where,  now  so  long  since,  Hester  Prynne 
had  lived  through  her  first  hours  of  public  ignominy.  The 
same  platform  or  scaffold,  black  and  weather-stained  with 
the  storm  or  sunshine  of  seven  long  years,  and  foot-worn, 
too,  with  the  tread  of  many  culprits  who  had  since  ascended 
it,  remained  standing  beneath  the  balcony  of  the  meeting 
house.  The  minister  went  up  the  steps. 

It  was  an  obscure  night  of  early  May.  An  unvaried 
pall  of  cloud  muffled  the  whole  expanse  of  sky  from  zenith 
to  horizon.  If  the  same  multitude  which  had  stood  as 
eye-witnesses  while  Hester  Prynne  sustained  her  punish 
ment  could  now  have  been  summoned  forth,  they  would 
have  discerned  no  face  above  the  platform,  nor  hardly  the 
outline  of  a  human  shape,  in  the  dark  gray  of  the  mid 
night.  But  the  town  was  all  asleep.  There  was  no  peril 
of  discovery.  The  minister  might  stand  there,  if  it  so 
pleased  him,  until  morning  should  redden  in  the  eastj 
without  other  risk  than  that  the  dank  and  chill  night-ah 
would  creep  into  his  frame,  and  stiffen  his  joints  with 


168         THE  SCAELET  LETTER. 

rheumatism,  and  clog  his  throat  with  catarrh  and  cough ; 
thereby  defrauding  the  expectant  audience  of  to-morrow's 
prayer  and  sermon.  No  eye  could  see  him,  save  that 
ever- wakeful  one  which  had  seen  him  in  his  closet,  wield 
ing  the  bloody  scourge.  Why,  then,  had  he  come  hither  ? 
Was  it  but  the  mockery  of  penitence  ?  A  mockery,  in 
deed,  but  in  which  his  soul  trifled  with  itself !  A  mock 
ery  at  which  angels  blushed  and  wept,  while  fiends 
rejoiced,  with  jeering  laughter !  He  had  been  driven 
hither  by  the  impulse  of  that  Remorse  which  dogged  him 
everywhere,  and  whose  own  sister  and  closely  linked 
companion  was  that  Cowardice  which  invariably  drew 
him  back,  with  her  tremulous  gripe,  just  when  the  other 
impulse  had  hurried  him  to  the  verge  of  a  disclosure. 
Poor,  miserable  man !  what  right  had  infirmity  like  his 
to  burden  itself  with  crime?  Crime  is  for  the  iron- 
nerved,  who  have  their  choice  either  to  endure  it,  or,  if 
it  press  too  hard,  to  exert  their  fierce  and  savage  strength 
for  a  good  purpose,  and  fling  it  off  at  once  !  This  feeble 
and  most  sensitive  of  spirits  could  do  neither,  yet  con 
tinually  did  one  thing  or  another,  which  intertwined,  in 
the  same  inextricable  knot,  the  agony  of  heaven-defying 
guilt  and  vain  repentance. 

And  thus,  while  standing  on  the  scaffold,  in  this  vain 
show  of  expiation,  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  overcome  with 
a  great  horror  of  mind,  as  if  the  universe  were  gazing  at 
a  scarlet  token  on  his  naked  breast,  right  over  his  heart. 
On  that  spot,  in  very  truth,  there  was,  and  there  had 
long  been,  the  gnawing  and  poisonous  tooth  of  bodily 
pain.  Without  any  effort  of  his  will,  or  power  to  restrain 
himself,  he  shrieked  aloud ;  an  outcry  that  went  pealing 
through  the  night,  and  was  beaten  back  from  one  house 
to  another,  and  reverberated  from  the  hills  in  the  back 
ground;  as  if  a  company  of  devils,  detecting  so  much 


THE    MINISTER'S    VIGIL.  169 

misery  and  terror  in  it,  had  made  a  plaything  of  the 
sound,  and  were  bandying  it  to  and  fro. 

"  It  is  done  !  "  muttered  the  minister,  covering  his  face 
with  his  hands.  "  The  whole  town  will  awake,  and  hurry 
forth,  and  find  me  here  !  " 

But  it  was  not  so.  The  shriek  had  perhaps  sounded 
with  a  far  greater  power,  to  his  own  startled  ears,  than 
it  actually  possessed.  The  town  did  not  awake;  or,  if 
it  did,  the  drowsy  slumberers  mistook  the  cry  either  for 
something  frightful  in  a  dream,  or  for  the  noise  of  witches ; 
whose  voices,  at  that  period,  were  often  heard  to  pass 
over  the  settlements  or  lonely  cottages,  as  they  rode  with 
Satan  through  the  air.  The  clergyman,  therefore,  hear 
ing  no  symptoms  of  disturbance,  uncovered  his  eyes  and 
looked  about  him.  At  one  of  the  chamber- windows  of 
Governor  Bellingham's  mansion,  which  stood  at  some 
distance,  on  the  line  of  another  street,  he  beheld  the 
appearance  of  the  old  magistrate  himself,  with  a  lamp  in 
his  hand,  a  white  nightcap  on  his  head,  and  a  long  white 
gown  enveloping  his  figure.  He  looked  like  a  ghost, 
evoked  unseasonably  from  the  grave.  The  cry  had  evi 
dently  startled  him.  At  another  window  of  the  same 
house,  moreover,  appeared  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the 
Governor's  sister,  also  with  a  lamp,  which,  even  thus  far 
off,  revealed  the  expression  of  her  sour  and  discontented 
face.  She  thrust  forth  her  head  from  the  lattice,  and 
looked  anxiously  upward.  Beyond  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt,  this  venerable  witch-lady  had  heard  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  outcry,  and  interpreted  it,  with  its  multitudinous 
echoes  and  reverberations,  as  the  clamor  of  the  fiends 
and  night-hags,  with  whom  she  was  well  known  to  make 
excursions  into  the  forest. 

Detecting  the  gleam  of  Governor  Bellingham's  lamp, 
the  old  lady  quickly  extinguished  her  own,  and  vanished. 
8  " 


170         THE  SCARLET  LETTER, 

Possibly,  she  went  up  among  the  clouds.  The  minister 
saw  nothing  further  of  her  motions.  The  magistrate, 
after  a  wary  observation  of  the  darkness,  —  into  which, 
nevertheless,  he  could  see  but  little  further  than  he 
might  into  a  mill-stone,  —  retired  from  the  window. 

The  minister  grew  comparatively  calm.  His  eyes, 
however,  were  soon  greeted  by  a  little,  glimmering  light, 
which,  at  first  a  long  way  oft',  was  approaching  up  the 
street.  It  threw  a  gleam  of  recognition  on  here  a  post, 
and  there  a  garden-fence,  and  here  a  latticed  window- 
pane,  and  there  a  pump,  with  its  full  trough  of  water,  and 
here,  again,  an  arched  door  of  oak,  with  an  iron  knocker, 
and  a  rough  log  .for  the  doorstep.  The  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  noted  all  these  minute  particulars,  even  while 
firmly  convinced  that  the  doom  of  his  existence  was  steal 
ing  onward,  in  the  footsteps  which  he  now  heard ;  and 
that  the  gleam  of  the  lantern  would  fall  upon  him,  in  a 
few  moments  more,  and  reveal  his  long-hidden  secret. 
As  the  light  drew  nearer,  he  beheld,  within  its  illumi 
nated  circle,  his  brother  clergyman,  — ••  or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  his  professional  father,  as  well  as  highly  val 
ued  friend,  —  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson ;  who,  as  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  now  conjectured,  had  been  praying  at  the 
bedside  of  some  dying  man.  And  so  he  had.  The  good 
old  minister  came  freshly  from  the  death-chamber  of  Gov 
ernor  Winthrop,  who  had  passed  from  earth  to  heaven 
within  that  very  hour.  And  now,  surrounded,  like  the 
saint-like  personages  of  olden  times,  with  a  radiant  halo, 
that  glorified  him  amid  this  gloomy  night  of  sin,  —  as  if 
the  departed  Governor  had  left  him  an  inheritance  of  his 
glory,  or  as  if  he  had  caught  upon  himself  the  distant 
shine  of  the  celestial  city,  while  looking  thitherward  to 
see  the  triumphant  pilgrim  pass  within  its  gates,  —  now, 
in  short,  good  Father  Wilsoa  was  moving  homeward, 


THE    MINISTER'S    VIGIL.  171 

aiding  his  footsteps  with  a  lighted  lantern  !  The  glim 
mer  of  this  luminary  suggested  the  above  conceits  to  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  who  smiled,  —  nay,  almost  laughed  at  them, 
—  and  then  wondered  if  he  were  going  mad. 

As  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  passed  beside  the  scaf 
fold,  closely  muffling  his  Geneva  cloak  about  him  with 
one  arm,  and  holding  the  lantern  before  his  breast  with 
the  other,  the  minister  could  hardly  restrain  himself  from 
speaking. 

"A  good  evening  to  you,  venerable  Father  Wilson! 
Come  up  hither,  I  pray  you,  and  pass  a  pleasant  hour 
with  me ! " 

Good  heavens !  Had  Mr.  Dimmesdale  actually  spoken  ? 
For  one  instant,  he  believed  that  these  words  had  passed 
his  lips.  But  they  were  uttered  only  within  his  imagi 
nation.  The  venerable  Father  Wilson  continued  to  step 
slowly  onward,  looking  carefully  at  the  muddy  pathway 
before  his  feet,  and  never  once  turning  his  head  towards 
the  guilty  platform.  When  the  light  of  the  glimmering 
lantern  had  faded  quite  away,  the  minister  discovered,  by 
the  faintness  which  came  over  him,  that  the  last  few  mo 
ments  had  been  a  crisis  of  terrible  anxiety ;  although  his 
mind  had  made  an  involuntary  effort  to  relieve  itself  by 
a  kind  of  lurid  playfulness. 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  like  grisly  sense  of  the  humor 
ous  again  stole  in  among  the  solemn  phantoms  of  his 
thought.  He  felt  his  limbs  growing  stiff  with  the  unac 
customed  chilliness  of  the  night,  and  doubted  whether 
he  should  be  able  to  descend  the  steps  of  the  scaffold. 
Morning  would  break,  and  find  him  there.  The  neigh 
borhood  would  begin  to  rouse  itself.  The  earliest  riser, 
coming  forth  in  the  dim  twilight,  would  perceive  a  vaguely 
defined  figure  aloft  on  the  place  of  shame;  and,  half 
crazed  betwixt  alarm  and  curiosity,  would  go,  knocking 


172         THE  SCAELET  LETTER. 

from  door  to  door,  summoning  all  the  people  to  behold 
the  ghost  —  as  he  needs  must  think  it  —  of  some  defunct 
transgressor.  A  dusky  tumult  would  flap  its  wings  from 
one  house  to  another.  Then  —  the  morning  light  still 
waxing  stronger  —  old  patriarchs  would  rise  up  in  great 
haste,  each  in  his  flannel  gown,  and  matronly  dames, 
without  pausing  to  put  off  their  night-gear.  The  whole 
tribe  of  decorous  personages,  who  had  never  heretofore 
be?u  seen  with  a  single  hair  of  their  heads  awry,  would 
start  into  public  view,  with  the  disorder  of  a  nightmare 
in  their  aspects.  Old  Governor  Bellingham  would  come 
grimly  forth,  with  his  King  James's  ruff  fastened  askew ; 
and  Mistress  Hibbins,  with  some  twigs  of  the  forest  cling 
ing  to  her  skirts,  and  looking  sourer  than  ever,  as  having 
hardly  got  a  wink  of  sleep  after  her  night  ride ;  and  good 
Father  Wilson,  too,  after  spending  half  the  night  at  a 
death-bed,  and  liking  ill  to  be  disturbed,  thus  early,  out 
of  his  dreams  about  the  glorified  saints.  Hither,  like 
wise,  would  come  the  elders  and  deacons  of  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale's  church,  and  the  young  virgins  who  so  idolized  their 
minister,  and  had  made  a  shrine  for  him  in  their  white 
bosoms ;  which  now,  by  the  by,  in  their  hurry  and  confu 
sion,  they  would  scantly  have  given  themselves  time  to 
cover  with  their  kerchiefs.  All  people,  in  a  word,  would 
come  stumbling  over  their  thresholds,  and  turning  up  their 
amazed  and  horror-stricken  visages  around  the  scaffold. 
Whom  would  they  discern  there,  with  the  red  eastern 
light  upon  his  brow  ?  Whom,  but  the  Reverend  Arthur 
Dirnmesdale,  half  frozen  to  death,  overwhelmed  with 
shame,  and  standing  where  Hester  Prynne  had  stood ! 
Carried  away  by  the  grotesque  horror  of  this  picture, 
the  minister,  unawares,  and  to  Ins  own  infinite  alarm, 
burst  into  a  great  peal  of  laughter.  It  was  immediately 
responded  to  by  a  light,  airy,  childish  laugh,  in  which, 


THE    MINISTER'S    VIGIL.  173 

with  a  thrill  of  the  heart,  —  but  he  knew  not  whether  of 
exquisite  pain,  or  pleasure  as  acute,  —  he  recognized  the 
tones  of  little  Pearl. 

"  Pearl !  Little  Pearl !  "  cried  he  after  a  moment's 
pause ;  then,  suppressing  his  voice,  —  "  Hester  !  Hester 
Prynne !  Are  you  there  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  Hester  Prynne  !  "  she  replied,  in  a  tone  of 
surprise  ;  and  the  minister  heard  her  footsteps  approach 
ing  from  the  sidewalk,  along  which  she  had  been  passing. 
"  It  is  I,  and  my  little  Pearl." 

"  Whence  come  you,  Hester  ?  "  asked  the  minister. 
"  What  sent  you  hither  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  watching  at  a  death-bed,"  answered  Hes 
ter  Prynne ;  —  "at  Governor  Winthrop's  death-bed,  and 
have  taken  his  measure  for  a  robe,  and  am  now  going 
homeward  to  my  dwelling." 

"  Come  up  hither,  Hester,  thou  and  little  Pearl,"  said 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  "  Ye  have  both  been 
here  before,  but  I  was  not  with  you.  Come  up  hither 
once  again,  and  we  will  stand  all  three  together !  " 

She  silently  ascended  the  steps,  and  stood  on  the  plat 
form,  holding  little  Pearl  by  the  hand.  The  minister  felt 
for  the  child's  other  hand,  and  took  it.  The  moment 
that  he  did  so,  there  came  what  seemed  a  tumultuous 
rush  of  new  life,  other  life  than  his  own,  pouring  like  a 
torrent  into  his  heart,  and  hurrying  through  all  his 
veins,  as  if  the  mother  and  the  child  were  communi 
cating  their  vital  warmth  to  his  half-torpid  system.  The 
three  formed  an  electric  chain. 

"  Minister  !  "  whispered  little  Pearl. 

"  What  wouldst  thou  say,  child  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Dim 
mesdale. 

"  Wilt  thou  stand  here  with  mother  and  me,  to-mor 
row  noontide  ?  "  inquired  Pearl. 


174  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

"  Nay ;  not  so,  my  little  Pearl,"  answered  the  minis 
ter;  for,  with  the  new  energy  of  the  moment,  all  the 
dread  of  public  exposure,  that  had  so  long  been  the 
anguish  of  his  life,  had  returned  upon  him  ;  and  he  was 
already  trembling  at  the  conjunction  in  which  —  with  a 
strange  joy,  nevertheless  —  he  now  found  himself.  "  Not 
so,  my  child.  I  shall,  indeed,  stand  with  thy  mother  and 
thee  one  other  day,  but  not  to-morrow." 

Pearl  laughed,  and  attempted  to  pull  away  her  hand. 
But  the  minister  held  it  fast. 

"  A  moment  longer,  my  child  !  "  said  he. 

"  But  wilt  thou  promise,"  asked  Pearl,  "  to  take  my 
hand,  and  mother's  hand,  to-morrow  noontide  ?  " 

''Not  then,  Pearl,"  said  the  minister,  "but  another 
time." 

"  And  what  other  time  ?  "  persisted  the  child. 

"  At  the  great  judgment  day,"  whispered  the  minis 
ter,  —  and,  strangely  enough,  the  sense  that  he  was  a 
professional  teacher  of  the  truth  impelled  him  to  answer 
the  child  so.  "Then,  and  there,  before  the  judgment- 
seat,  thy  mother,  and  thou,  and  I  must  stand  together. 
But  the  daylight  of  this  world  shall  not  see  our  meet- 
ing!" 

Pearl  laughed  again. 

But,  before  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  done  speaking,  a 
light  gleamed  far  and  wide  over  all  the  muffled  sky.  It 
was  doubtless  caused  by  one  of  those  meteors,  which 
the  night-watcher  may  so  often  observe  burning  out  to 
waste,  in  the  vacant  regions  of  the  atmosphere.  So 
powerful  was  its  radiance,  that  it  thoroughly  illuminated 
the  dense  medium  of  cloud  betwixt  the  sky  and  earth. 
The  great  vault  brightened,  like  the  dome  of  an  im 
mense  lamp.  It  showed  the  familiar  scene  of  the  street, 
with  the  distinctness  of  mid-day,  but  also  with  the 


THE    MINISTER'S    VIGIL.  175 

awfulness  that  is  always  imparted  to  familiar  objects 
by  an  unaccustomed  light.  The  wooden  houses,  with 
their  jutting  stories  and  quaint  gable-peaks ;  the  door 
steps  and  thresholds,  with  the  early  grass  springing  up 
about  them ;  the  garden-plots,  black  with  freshly  turned 
earth;  the  wheel-track,  little  worn,  and,  even  in  the 
market-place,  margined  with  green  on  either  side;-— 
all  were  visible,  but  with  a  singularity  of  aspect  that 
seemed  to  give  another  moral  interpretation  to  the  things 
of  this  world  than  they  had  ever  borne  before.  And  there 
stood  the  minister,  with  his  hand  over  his  heart ;  and 
Hester  Prynne,  with  the  embroidered  letter  glimmering 
on  her  bosom ;  and  little  Pearl,  herself  a  symbol,  and  the 
connecting  link  between  those  two.  They  stood  in  the 
noon  of  that  strange  and  solemn  splendor,  as  if  it  were 
the  light  that  is  to  reveal  all  secrets,  and  the  daybreak 
that  shall  unite  all  who  belong  to  one  another. 

There  was  witchcraft  in  little  Pearl's  eyes,  and  her 
face,  as  she  glanced  upward  at  the  minister,  wore  that 
naughty  smile  which  made  its  expression  frequently  so 
elvish.  She  withdrew  her  hand  from  Mr.  Dimmesdale's, 
and  pointed  across  the  street.  But  he  clasped  both  Ins 
hands  over  his  breast,  and  cast  his  eyes  towards  the 
zenith. 

Nothing  was  more  common,  in  those  days,  than  to  in 
terpret  all  meteoric  appearances,  and  other  natural  phe 
nomena,  that  occurred  with  less  regularity  than  the  rise 
and  set  of  sun  and  moon,  as  so  many  revelations  from  a 
supernatural  source.  Thus,  a  blazing  spear,  a  sword  of 
flame,  a  bow,  or  a  sheaf  of  arrows,  seen  in  the  midnight 
sky,  prefigured  Indian  warfare.  Pestilence  was  known 
to  have  been  foreboded  by  a  shower  of  crimson  light. 
We  doubt  whether  any  marked  event,  for  good  or  evil, 
erer  befell  New  England,  from  its  settlement  dovrn  to 


176          THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

Revolutionary  times,  of  which  the  inhabitants  had  not 
been  previously  warned  by  some  spectacle  of  this  nature. 
Not  seldom,  it  had  been  seen  by  multitudes.  Oftener, 
however,  its  credibility  rested  on  the  faith  of  some  lonely 
eye-witness,  who  beheld  the  wonder  through  the  colored, 
magnifying,  and  distorting  medium  of  his  imagination, 
and  shaped  it  more  distinctly  in  his  after-thought.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  majestic  idea,  that  the  destiny  of  nations 
should  be  revealed,  in  these  awful  hieroglyphics,  on  the 
cope  of  heaven.  A  scroll  so  wide  might  not  be  deemed 
too  expansive  for  Providence  to  write  a  people's  doom 
upon.  The  belief  was  a  favorite  one  with  our  forefa 
thers,  as  betokening  that  their  infant  commonwealth  was 
under  a  celestial  guardianship  of  peculiar  intimacy  and 
strictness.  But  what  shall  we  say,  when  an  individual 
discovers  a  revelation  addressed  to  himself  alone,  on  the 
same  vast  sheet  of  record  !  In  such  a  case,  it  could  only } 
be  the  symptom  of  a  highly  disordered  mental  state,  when 
a  man,  rendered  morbidly  self-contemplative  by  long, 
intense,  and  secret  pain,  had  extended  his  egotism  over 
the  whole  expanse  of  nature,  until  the  firmament  itself 
should  appear  no  more  than  a  fitting  page  for  his  soul's 
history  and  fate ! 

We  impute  it,  therefore,  solely  to  the  disease  in  his 
own  eye  and  heart,  that  the  minister,  looking  upward  to 
the  zenith,  beheld  there  the  appearance  of  an  immense 
letter,  —  the  letter  A,  — marked  out  in  lines  of  dull  red 
light.  Not  but  the  meteor  may  have  shown  itself  at  that 
point,  burning  duskily  through  a  veil  of  cloud ;  but  with 
no  such  shape  as  his  guilty  imagination  gave  it ;  or,  at 
least,  with  so  little  definiteness,  that  another's  guilt  might 
have  seen  another  symbol  in  it. 

There  was  a  singular  circumstance  that  characterized 
Mr.  Dimmesdale's  psychological  state,  at  this  moment. 


THE    MINISTER'S    VIGIL.  177 

All  the  time  that  he  gazed  upward  to  the  zenith,  he  was, 
nevertheless,  perfectly  aware  that  little  Pearl  was  point 
ing  her  finger  towards  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  who 
stood  at  no  great  distance  from  the  scaffold.  The  minis 
ter  appeared  to  see  him,  with  the  same  glance  that  dis 
cerned  the  miraculous  letter.  To  his  features,  as  to  all 
other  objects,  the  meteoric  light  imparted  a  new  expres 
sion  ;  or  it  might  well  be  that  the  physician  was  not  care 
ful  then,  as  at  all  other  times,  to  hide  the  malevolence 
with  which  he  looked  upon  his  victim.  Certainly,  if  the 
meteor  kindled  up  the  sky,  and  disclosed  the  earth,  with 
an  awfulness  that  admonished  Hester  Prynne  and  the 
clergyman  of  the  day  of  judgment,  then  might  Roger 
Chillingworth  have  passed  with  them  for  the  arch-fiend, 
standing  there  with  a  smile  and  scowl,  to  claim  his  own. 
So  vivid  was  the  expression,  or  so  intense  the  minister's 
perception  of  it,  that  it  seemed  still  to  remain  painted  on 
the  darkness,  after  the  meteor  had  vanished,  with  an 
effect  as  if  the  street  and  all  things  else  were  at  once 
annihilated. 

"  Who  is  that  man,  Hester  ?  "  gasped  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale,  overcome  with  terror.  "  I  shiver  at  him  !  Dost 
thou  know  the  man  ?  I  hate  him,  Hester  !  " 

She  remembered  her  oath,  and  was  silent. 

"  I  tell  thee,  my  soul  shivers  at  him ! "  muttered  the 
minister  again.  "  Who  is  he  ?  Who  is  he  ?  Canst 
thou  do  nothing  for  me  ?  I  have  a  nameless  horror  of 
the  man ! " 

"  Minister,"  said  little  Pearl,  "  I  can  tell  thee  who  he 
is ! " 

"  Quickly,  then,  child  ! "  said  the  minister,  bending 
his  ear  close  to  her  lips.  "Quickly!  —  and  as  low  as 
thou  canst  whisper." 

Pearl  mumbled  something  into  his  ear,  that  sounded, 


178        THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

indeed,  like  human  language,  but  was  only  such  gibber 
ish  as  children  may  be  heard  amusing  themselves  with, 
by  the  hour  together.  At  all  events,  if  it  involved  any 
secret  information  in  regard  to  old  Roger  Chillingworth, 
it  was  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  the  erudite  clergyman, 
and  did  but  increase  the  bewilderment  of  his  mind.  The 
elvish  child  then  laughed  aloud. 

"Dost  thou  mock  me  now ? "  said  the  minister. 

"  Thou  wast  not  bold  !  —  thou  wast  not  true  !  "  —  an 
swered  the  child.  "  Thou  wouldst  not  promise  to  take 
my  hand,  and  mother's  hand,  to-morrow  noontide  !  " 

"  Worthy  Sir,"  answered  the  physician,  who  had  now 
advanced  to  the  foot  of  the  platform.  "Pious  Master 
Dimmesdale,  can  this  be  you  ?  Well,  well,  indeed ! 
We  men  of  study,  whose  heads  are  in  our  books,  have 
need  to  be  straitly  looked  after !  We  dream  in  our 
waking  moments,  and  walk  in  our  sleep.  Come,  good 
Sir,  and  my  dear  friend,  I  pray  you,  let  me  lead  you 
home ! " 

"  How  knewest  thou  that  I  was  here  ?  "  asked  the 
minister,  fearfully. 

"  Verily,  and  in  good  faith,"  answered  Roger  Chilling- 
worth,  "  I  knew  nothing  of  the  matter.  I  had  spent  the 
better  part  of  the  night  at  the  bedside  of  the  worshipful 
Governor  Winthrop,  doing  what  my  poor  skill  might  to 
give  him  ease.  He  going  home  to  a  better  world,  I, 
likewise,  was  on  my  way  homeward,  when  this  strange 
light  shone  out.  Come  with  me,  I  beseech  you,  Rever 
end  Sir ;  else  you  will  be  poorly  able  to  do  Sabbath  duty 
to-morrow.  Aha  !  see  now,  how  they  trouble  the  brain, 
—  these  books  !  —  these  books  !  You  should  study  less, 
good  Sir,  and  take  a  little  pastime ;  or  these  night- 
whimseys  will  grow  upon  you." 

"I  will  go  home  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 


THE    MINISTER'S    VIGIL.  179 

With  a  chill  despondency,  like  one  awaking,  all  nerve 
less,  from  an  ugly  dream,  he  yielded  himself  to  the  phy 
sician,  and  was  led  away. 

The  next  day,  however,  being  the  Sabbath,  he  preached 
a  discourse  which  was  held  to  be  the  richest  and  most 
powerful,  and  the  most  replete  with  heavenly  influences, 
that  had  ever  proceeded  from  his  lips.  Souls,  it  is  said 
more  souls  than  one,  were  brought  to  the  truth  by  the 
efficacy  of  that  sermon,  and  vowed  within  themselves  to 
cherish  a  holy  gratitude  towards  Mr.  Dimmesdale  through 
out  the  long  hereafter.  But,  as  he  came  down  the  pul 
pit  steps,  the  gray-bearded  sexton  met  him,  holding  up  a 
black  glove,  which  the  minister  recognized  as  his  own. 

"  It  was  found,"  said  the  sexton,  "  this  morning,  on 
the  scaffold  where  evil-doers  are  set  up  to  public  shame. 
Satan  dropped  it  there,  I  take  it,  intending  a  scurrilous 
jest  against  your  reverence.  But,  indeed,  he  was  blind 
and  foolish,  as  he  ever  and  always  is.  A  pure  hand 
needs  no  glove  to  cover  it !  " 

"  Thank  you,  my  good  friend/'  said  the  minister, 
gravely,  but  startled  at  heart ;  for,  so  confused  was  his 
remembrance,  that  he  had  almost  brought  himself  to 
look  at  the  events  of  the  past  night  as  visionary.  "  Yes, 
it  seems  to  be  my  glove,  indeed  !  " 

"  And,  since  Satan  saw  fit  to  steal  it,  your  reverence 
must  needs  handle  him  without  gloves,  henceforward," 
remarked  the  old  sexton,  grimly  smiling.  "  But  did 
your  reverence  hear  of  the  portent  that  was  seen  last 
wight? — a  great  red  letter  in  the  sky,  —  the  letter  A, 
which  we  interpret  to  stand  for  Angel.  For,  as  our  good 
Governor  Winthrop  was  made  an  angel  this  past  night, 
it  was  doubtless  held  fit  that  there  should  be  some  notice 
thereof !  " 

"  No,"  answered  the  minister,  "  I  had  not  heard  of  it." 


XIII. 
ANOTHER   VIEW  OF   HESTEE, 

|N  her  late  singular  interview  with  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale,  Hester  Prynne  was  shocked  at  the  con 
dition  to  which  she  found  the  clergyman  reduced. 
His  nerve  seemed  absolutely  destroyed.  His  moral  force 
was  abased  into  more  than  childish  weakness.  It  grov 
elled  helpless  on  the  ground,  even  while  his  intellectual 
faculties  retained  their  pristine  strength,  or  had  perhaps 
acquired  a  morbid  energy,  which  disease  only  could  have 
given  them.  With  her  knowledge  of  a  train  of  circum 
stances  hidden  from  all  others,  she  could  readily  infer 
that,  besides  the  legitimate  action  of  his  own  conscience, 
a  terrible  machinery  had  been  brought  to  bear,  and  was 
still  operating,  on  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  well-being  and  re 
pose.  Knowing  what  this  poor,  fallen  man  had  once 
been,  her  whole  soul  was  moved  by  the  shuddering  ter 
ror  with  which  he  had  appealed  to  her,  —  the  outcast 
woman,  —  for  support  against  his  instinctively  discovered 
enemy.  She  decided,  moreover,  that  he  had  a  right  to 
her  utmost  aid.  Little  accustomed,  in  her  long  seclusion 
from  society,  to  measure  her  ideas  of  right  and  wrong 
by  any  standard  external  to  herself,  Hester  saw  —  or 
seemed  to  see  —  that  there  lay  a  responsibility  upon  her, 
in  reference  to  the  clergyman,  which  she  owed  to  no 


ANOTHER    VIEW    OF    HESTER.  181 

other,  nor  to  the  whole  world  besides.  The  links  that 
united  her  to  the  rest  of  human  kind  —  Blinks  of  flowers, 
or  silk,  or  gold,  or  whatever  the  material  —  had  all  been 
broken.  Here  was  the  iron  link  of  mutual  crime,  which 
neither  he  nor  she  could  break.  Like  all  other  ties,  it 
brought  along  with  it  its  obligations. 

Hester  Prynne  did  not  now  occupy  precisely  the  same 
position  in  which  we  beheld  her  during  the  earlier  periods 
of  her  ignominy.  Years  had  come  and  gone.  Pearl 
was  now  seven  years  old.  Her  mother,  with  the  scarlet 
letter  on  her  breast,  glittering  in  its  fantastic  embroidery, 
had  long  been  a  familiar  object  to  the  townspeople.  As 
is  apt  to  be  the  case  when  a  person  stands  out  in  any 
prominence  before  the  community,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
interferes  neither  with  public  nor  individual  interests  and 
convenience,  a  species  of  general  regard  had  ultimately 
grown  up  in  reference  to  Hester  Prynne.  It  is  to  the 
credit  of  human  nature,  that,  except  where  its  selfishness 
is  brought  into  play,  it  loves  more  readily  than  it  hates. 
Hatred,  by  a  gradual  and  quiet  process,  will  even  be 
transformed  to  love,  unless  the  change  be  impeded  by  a 
continually  new  irritation  of  the  original  feeling  of  hos 
tility.  In  this  matter  of  Hester  Prynne,  there  was  nei 
ther  irritation  nor  irksomeness.  She  never  battled  with 
the  public,  but  submitted,  uncomplainingly,  to  its  worst 
usage  ;  she  made  no  claim  upon  it,  in  requital  for  what 
she  suffered ;  she  did  not  weigh  upon  its  sympathies. 
Then,  also,  the  blameless  purity  of  her  life  during  all 
these  years  in  which  she  had  been  set  apart  to  infamy, 
was  reckoned  largely  in  her  favor.  With  nothing  now 
to  lose,  in  the  sight  of  mankind,  and  with  no  hope,  and 
seemingly  no  wish,  of  gaining  anything,  it  could  only  be 
a  genuine  regard  for  virtue  that  had  brought  back  the 
poor  wanderer  to  its  paths. 


182         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

It  was  perceived,  too,  that  while  Hester  never  put  for 
ward  even  the  humblest  title  to  share  in  the  world's 
privileges,  —  further  than  to  breathe  the  common  air, 
and  earn  daily  bread  for  little  Pearl  and  herself  by  the 
faithful  labor  of  her  hands,  —  she  was  quick  to  acknowl- 
jf  edge  her  sisterhood  with  the  race  of  man,  whenever 
,;  benefits  were  to  be  conferred.  None  so  ready  as  she  to 
give  of  her  little  substance  to  every  demand  of  poverty ; 
even  though  the  bitter-hearted  pauper  threw  back  a  gibe 
in  requital  of  the  food  brought  regularly  to  his  door,  or 
the  garments  wrought  for  him  by  the  fingers  that  could 
have  embroidered  a  monarch's  robe.  None  so  self- 
devoted  as  Hester,  when  pestilence  stalked  through  the 
town.  In  all  seasons  of  calamity,  indeed,  whether  gen 
eral  or  of  individuals,  the  outcast  of  society  at  once 
found  her  place.  She  came,  not  as  a  guest,  but  as  a 
rightful  inmate,  into  the  household  that  was  darkened 
by  trouble ;  as  if  its  gloomy  twilight  were  a  medium  in 
which  she  was  entitled  to  hold  intercourse  with  her  fel 
low-creatures.  There  glimmered  the  embroidered  letter, 
with  comfort  in  its  unearthly  ray.  Elsewhere  the  token 
of  sin,  it  was  the  taper  of  the  sick-chamber.  It  had 
even  thrown  its  gleam,  in  the  sufferer's  hard  extremity, 
across  the  verge  of  time.  It  had  shown  him  where  to 
set  his  foot,  while  the  light  of  earth  was  fast  becoming 
dim,  and  ere  the  light  of  futurity  could  reach  him.  In 
such  emergencies,  Hester's  nature  showed  itself  warm 
and  rich ;  a  well-spring  of  human  tenderness,  unfailing 
to  every  real  demand,  and  inexhaustible  by  the  largest. 
Her  breast,  with  its  badge  of  shame,  was  but  the  softer 
pillow  for  the  head  that  needed  one.  ._  She  was  self-or 
dained  a  Sister  of  Mercy;  or,  we  may  rather  say,  the 
world's  heavy  hand  had  so  ordained  her,  when  neither 
the  world  nor  she  looked  forward  to  this  result.  The 


ANOTHER    VIEW    OF    HESTER.  183 

letter  was  the  symbol  of  her  calling.  Such  helpfulness 
was  found  in  her,  —  so  much  power  to  do,  and  power  to 
sympathize,  —  that  many  people  refused  to  interpret  the 
scarlet  A  by  its  original  signification.  They  said  that  it 
meant  Able;  so  strong  was  Hester  Prynne,  with  a  wo 
man's  strength. 

IF  was  only  the  darkened  house  that  could  contain 
her.  When  sunshine  came  again,  she  was  not  there. 
Her  shadow  had,  faded  across  the  threshold.  The  help 
ful  inmate  had  departed,  without  one  backward  glance 
to  gather  up  the  meed  of  gratitude,  if  any  were  in  the 
hearts  of  those  whom  she  had  served  so  zealously. 
Meeting  them  in  the  street,  she  never  raised  her  head 
to  receive  their  greeting.  If  they  were  resolute  to 
accost  her,  she  laid  her  finger  on  the  scarlet  letter,  and 
passed  on.  This  might  be  pride,  but  was  so  like  hu 
mility,  that  it  produced  all  the  softening  influence  of 
the  latter  quality  on  the  public  mind.  The  public  is 
despotic  in  its  temper;  it  is  capable  of  denying  com 
mon  justice,  when  too  strenuously  demanded  as  a  right; 
but  quite  as  frequently  it  awards  more  than  justice, 
when  the  appeal  is  made,  as  despots  love  to  have  it 
made,  entirely  to  its  generosity.  Interpreting  Hester 
Prynne' s  deportment  as  an  appeal  of  this  nature,  society 
was  inclined  to  show  its  former  victim  a  more  benign 
countenance  than  she  cared  to  be  favored  with,  or,  per 
chance,  than  she  deserved. 

The  rulers,  and  the  wise  and  learned  men  of  the 
community,  were  longer  in  acknowledging  the  influ 
ence  of  Hester's  good  qualities  than  the  people.  The 
prejudices  which  they  shared  in  common  with  the  latter 
were  fortified  in  themselves  by  an  iron  framework  of 
reasoning,  that  made  it  a  far  tougher  labor  to  expel 
them.  Day  by  day,  nevertheless,  their  sour  and  rigid 


184         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

wrinkles  were  relaxing  into  something  which,  in  the 
due  course  of  years,  might  grow  to  be  an  expression 
of  almost  *  benevolence.  Thus  it  was  with  the  men  of 
rank,  on  whom  their  eminent  position  imposed  the 
guardianship  of  the  public  morals.  Individuals  in  pri 
vate  life,  meanwhile,  had  quite  forgiven  Hester  Prynne 
for  her  frailty ;  nay,  more,  they  had  begun  to  look  upon 
the  scarlet  letter  as  the  token,  not  of  that  one  sin,  for 
which  she  had  borne  so  long  and  dreary  a  penance, 
but  of  her  many  good  deeds  since.  "  Do  you  see  that 
woman  with  the  embroidered  badge  ?  "  they  would 
to  strangers.  "  It  is  our  Hester,  —  the  town's  owir 
Hester,  who  is  so  kind  to  the  poor,  so  helpful  to  the 
sick,  so  comfortable  to  the  afflicted !  "  Then,  it  is  true, 
the  propensity  of  human  nature  to  tell  the  very  worst 
of  itself,  when  embodied  in  the  person  of  another,  would 
constrain  them  to  whisper  the  black  scandal  of  bygone 
years.  It  was  none  the  less  a  fact,  however,  that,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  very  men  who  spoke  thus,  the  scarlet 
letter  had  the  effect  of  the  cross  on  a  nun's  bosom.)  It 
imparted  to  the  wearer  a  kind  of  sacredness,  which 
enabled  her  to  walk  securely  amid  all  peril.  Had  she 
fallen  among  thieves,  it  would  have  kept  her  safe.  It 
was  reported,  and  believed  by  many,  that  an  Indian  had 
drawn  his  arrow  against  the  badge,  and  that  the  missile 
struck  it,  but  fell  harmless  to  the  ground. 

The  effect  of  the  symbol  —  or,  rather,  of  the  position 
in  respect  to  society  that  was  indicated  by  it  —  on  the 
mind  of  Hester  Prynne  herself,  was  powerful  and  pecul 
iar.  All  the  light  and  graceful  foliage  of  her  character 
had  been  withered  up  by  this  red-hot  brand,  and  had 
long  ago  fallen  away,  leaving  a  bare  and  harsh  outline, 
which  might  have  been  repulsive,  had  she  possessed 
friends  or  companions  to  be  repelled  by  it.  Even  the 


ANOTHER    VIEW    OF    HESTER.  185 

attractiveness  of  her  person  had  undergone  a  similar 
change.  It  might  be  partly  owing  to  the  studied  aus 
terity  of  her  dress,  and  partly  to  the  lack  of  demonstra 
tion  in  her  manners.  It  was  a  sad  transformation,  too, 
that  her  rich  and  luxuriant  hair  had  either  been  cut  off, 
or  was  so  completely  hidden  by  a  cap,  that  not  a  shining 
lock  of  it  ever  once  gushed  into  the  sunshine.  It  was 
due  in  part  to  all  these  causes,  but  still  more  to  some 
thing  else,  that  there  seemed  to  be  no  longer  anything 
in  Hester's  face  for  Love  to  dwell  upon;  nothing  in 
Hester's  form,  though  majestic  and  statue-like,  that  Pas 
sion  would  ever  dream  of  clasping  in  its  embrace  ;  noth 
ing  in  Hester's  bosom,  to  make  it  ever  again  the  pillow 
of  Affection.  Some  attribute  had  departed  from  her,,  the 
permanence  of  wliicir-had  been  essential  to  keep  her  a 
woman.  Such  is  frequently  the  fate,  and  such  the  stern 
Development,  of  the  feminine  character  and  person,  when 
the  woman  has  encountered,  and  lived  through,  an  ex 
perience  of  peculiar  severity.  If  she  be  all  tenderness, 
she  will  die.  If  she  survive,  the  tenderness  will  either 
be  crushed  out  of  her,  or —  and  the  outward  semblance 
is  the  same  —  crushed  so  deeply  into  her  heart  that 
it  can  never  show  itself  more.  The  latter  is  perhaps 
the  truest  theory.  She  who  has  once  been  woman, 
and  ceased  to  be  so,  might  at  any  moment  become  a. 
woman  again  if  there  were  only  the  magic  touch  to 
effect  the  transfiguration.  We  shall  see  whether  Hester 
Prynne  were  ever  afterwards  so  touched,  and  so  trans 
figured. 

Much  of  the  marble  coldness  of  Hester's  impression 
was  to  be  attributed  to  the  circumstance,  that  her  life 
had  turned,  in  a  great  measure,  from  passion  and  feeling, 
to  thought.  Standing  alone  in  the  world,  —  alone,  as  to 
any  dependence  on  society,  and  with  little  Pearl  to  be 


186         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

guided  and  protected,  —  alone,  and  hopeless  of  retrieving 
her  position,  even  had  she  not  scorned  to  consider  it 
desirable,  —  she  cast  away  the  fragments  of  a  broken 
chain.  The  world's  law  was  no  law  for  her  mind.  It 
was  an  age  in  which  the  human  intellect,  newly  eman 
cipated,  had  taken  a  more  active  and  a  wider  range  than 
for  many  centuries  before.  Men  of  the  sword  had  over 
thrown  nobles  and  kings.  Men  bolder  than  these  had 
overthrown  and  rearranged  —  not  actually,  but  within 
the  sphere  of  theory,  which  was  their  most  real  abode  — 
the  whole  system  of  ancient  prejudice,  wherewith  was 
linked  much  of  ancient  principle.  Hester  Prynne  im 
bibed  this  spirit.  She  assumed  a  freedom  of  speculation, 
then  common  enough  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic, 
but  which  our  forefathers,  had  they  known  it,  would  have 
held  to  be  a  deadlier  crime  than  that  stigmatized  by  the 
scarlet  letter.  In  her  lonesome  cottage,  by  the  sea-shore, 
thoughts  visited  her,  such  as  dared  to  enter  no  other 
dwelling  in  New  England ;  shadowy  guests,  that  would 
have  been  as  perilous  as  demons  to  their  entertainer, 
could  they  have  been  seen  so  much  as  knocking  at  her 
door. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  persons  who  speculate  the  most 
boldly  often  conform  with  the  most  perfect  quietude  to 
the  external  regulations  of  society.  The  thought  suffices 
them,  without  investing  itself  in  the  flesh  and  blood  of 
action.  So  it  seemed  to  be  with  Hester.  Yet,  had  little 
Pearl  never  come  to  her  from  the  spiritual  world,  it  might 
have  been  far  otherwise.  Then,  she  might  have  come 
down  to  us  in  history,  hand  in  hand  with  Ann  Hutchin- 
son,  as  the  foundress  of  a  religious  sect.  She  might, 
in  one  of  her  phases,  have  been  a  prophetess.  She 
might,  and  not  improbably  would,  have  suffered  death 
from  the  stem  tribunals  of  the  period,  for  attempting  to 


ANOTHER   VIEW   OF    HESTER.  187 

undermine  the  foundations  of  the  Puritan  establishment. 
But,  in  the  education  of  her  child,  the  mother's  enthu 
siasm  of  thought  had  something  to  wreak  itself  upon. 
Providence,  in  the  person  of  this  little  girl,  had  assigned 
to  Hester's  charge  the  germ  and  blossom  of  womanhood, 
to  be  cherished  and  developed  amid  a  host  of  difficulties. 
Everything  was  against  her.  The  world  was  hostile. 
The  child's  own  nature  had  something  wrong  in  it, 
which  continually  betokened  that  she  had  been  born 
amiss,  —  the  effluence  of  her  mother's  lawless  passion, 
—  and  often  impelled  Hester  to  ask,  in  bitterness  of 
heart,  whether  it  were  for  ill  or  good  that  the  poor  little 
creature  had  been  born  at  all. 

Indeed,  the  same  dark  question  often  rose  into  her 
mind,  with  reference  to  the  whole  race  of  womanhood. 
Was  existence  worth  accepting,  even  to  the  happiest 
among  them  ?  As  concerned  her  own  individual  exist 
ence,  she  had  long  ago  decided  in  the  negative,  and  dis 
missed  the  point  as  settled.  A  tendency  to  speculation, 
though  it  may  keep  woman  quiet,  as  it  does  man,  yet 
makes  her  sad.  She  discerns,  it  may  be,  such  a  hopeless 
task  before  her.  As  a  first  step,  the  whole  system  of  so 
ciety  is  to  be  torn  down,  and  built  up  anew.  Then,  the 
very  nature  .of  the  opposite  sex,  or  its  long  hereditary 
habit,  which  has  become  like  nature,  is  to  be  essentially 
modified,  before  woman  can  be  allowed  to  assume  what 
seems  a  fair  and  suitable  position.  Finally,  all  other  diffi 
culties  being  obviated,  woman  cannot  take  advantage  of 
these  preliminary  reforms,  until  she  herself  shall  have 
undergone  a  still  mightier  change;  in  which,  perhaps, 
the  ethereal  essence,  wherein  she  has  her  truest  life,  will 
be  found  to  have  evaporated.  A  woman  never  overcomes 
these  problems  by  any  exercise  of  thought.  They  are 
not  to  be  solved,  or  only  in  one  way.  If  her  heart  chance 


188  THE    SCARLET    LETTER.       <j> 

• 

to  come  uppermost,  they  vanish.  Thus,  Hester  Prynne, 
whose  heart  had  lost  its  regular  and  healthy  throb,  wau- 
dered  without  a  clew  in  the  dark  labyrinth  of  mind ;  now 
turned  aside  by  an  insurmountable  precipice  ;  now  start 
ing  back  from  a  deep  chasm.  There  was  wild  and  ghastly 
scenery  all  around  her,  and  a  home  and  comfort  nowhere. 
At  times,  a  fearful  doubt  strove  to  possess  her  soul, 
whether  it  were  not  better  to  send  Pearl  at  once  to 
heaven,  and  go  herself  to  such  futurity  as  Eternal  Jus 
tice  should  provide. 

The  scarlet  letter  had  not  done  its  office. 

Now,  however,  her  interview  with  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  on  the  night  of  his  vigil,  had  given  her  a 
new  theme  of  reflection,  and  held  up  to  her  an  object 
that  appeared  worthy  of  any  exertion  and  sacrifice  for  its 
attainment.  She  had  witnessed  the  intense  misery  be 
neath  which  the  minister  struggled,  or,  to  speak  more 
accurately,  had  ceased  to  struggle.  She  saw  that  he 
stood  on  the  verge  of  lunacy,  if  he  had  not  already 
stepped  across  it.  It  was  impossible  to  doubt,  that, 
whatever  painful  efficacy  there  might  be  in  the  secret 
sting  of  remorse,  a  deadlier  venom  had  been  infused  into 
it  by  the  hand  that  proffered  relief.  A  secret  enemy  had 
been  continually  by  his  side,  under  the  semblance  of  a 
friend  and  helper,  and  had  availed  himself  of  the  oppor 
tunities  thus  afforded  for  tampering  with  the  delicate 
springs  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  nature.  Hester  could  not 
but  ask  herself,  whether  there  had  not  originally  been  a 
defect  of  truth,  courage,  and  loyalty,  on  her  own  part,  in 
allowing  the  minister  to  be  thrown  into  a  position  where 
so  much  evil  was  to  be  foreboded,  and  nothing  auspicious 
to  be  hoped.  Her  only  justification  lay  in  the  fact,  that 
she  had  been  able  to  discern  no  method  of  rescuing  him 
from  a  blacker  ruin  than  had  overwhelmed  herself,  except 

A 


ANOTHER  VIEW  OF  HESTER.       189 

by  acquiescing  in  Roger  Chillingworth's  scheme  of  dis 
guise.  Under  that  impulse,  she  had  made  her  choice, 
and  had  chosen,  as  it  now  appeared,  the  more  wretched 
alternative  of  the  two.  She  determined  to  redeem  her 
error,  so  far  as  it  might  yet  be  possible.  -  Strengthened 
by  years  of  hard  and  solemn  trial,  she  felt  herself  no 
longer  so  inadequate  to  cope  with  Roger  Chillingworth 
as  on  that  night,  abased  by  sin,  and  half  maddened  by 
the  ignominy  that  was  still  new,  when  they  had  talked 
together  in  the  prison-chamber.  She  had  climbed  her 
way,  since  then,  to  a  higher  point.  The  old  man,  on  the 
other  hand,  had  brought  himself  nearer  to  her  level,  or 
perhaps  below  it,  by  the  revenge  which  he  had  stooped 
for. 

In  fine,  Hester  Prynne  resolved  to  meet  her  former 
husband,  and  do  what  might  be  in  her  power  for  the  res 
cue  of  the  victim  on  whom  he  had  so  evidently  set  his 
gripe.  The  occasion  was  not  long  to  seek.  One  after 
noon,  walking  with  Pearl  in  a  retired  part  of  the  penin 
sula,  she  beheld  the  old  physician,  with  a  basket  on  one 
arm,  and  a  staff  in  the  other  hand,  stooping  along  the 
ground,  in  quest  of  roots  and  herbs  to  concoct  his  medi 
cines  withal. 


XIV. 
HESTER   AND    THE   PHYSICIAN, 

HESTER  bade  little  Pearl  run  down  to  the  margin 
of  the  water,  and  play  with  the  shells  and  tan. 

gled  sea-weed,  until  she  should  have  talked 

awhile  with  yonder  gatherer  of  herbs.  So  the  child  flew 
away  like  a  bird,  and,  making  bare  her  small  white  feet, 
went  pattering  along  the  moist  margin  of  the  sea.  Here 
and  there  she  came  to  a  full  stop,  and  peeped  curiously 
into  a  pool,  left  by  the  retiring  tide  as  a  mirror  for 
Pearl  to  see  her  face  in.  Forth  peeped  at  her,  out  of 
the  pool,  with  dark,  glistening  curls  around  her  head, 
and  an  elf-smile  in  her  eyes,  the  image  of  a  little  maid, 
whom  Pearl,  having  no  other  playmate,  invited  to  take 
her  hand,  and  run  a  race  with  her.  But  the  visionary 
little  maid,  on  her  part,  beckoned  likewise,  as  if  to  say, 
—  "  This  is  a  better  place  !  Come  thou  into  the  pool !  " 
And  Pearl,  stepping  in,  mid-leg  deep,  beheld  her  own 
white  feet  at  the  bottom ;  while,  out  of  a  still  lower 
depth,  came  the  gleam  of  a  kind  of  fragmentary  smile, 
floating  to  and  fro  in  the  agitated  water. 

Meanwhile,  her  mother  had  accosted  the  physician. 

" I  would  speak  a  word  with  you,"  said  she,  —  "a 
word  that  concerns  us  much." 


HESTER   AND    THE    PHYSICIAN.  191 

"  Aha !  and  is  it  Mistress  Hester  that  has  a  word 
for  old  Roger  Chillingworth  ? "  answered  he,  raising 
himself  from  his  stooping  posture.  "With  all  my 
heart !  Why,  Mistress,  I  hear  good  tidings  of  you  on, 
all  hands !  No  longer  ago  than  yester-eve,  a  magis 
trate,  a  wise  and  godly  man,  was  discoursing  of  your 
affairs,  Mistress  Hester,  and  whispered  me  that  there 
had  been  question  concerning  you  in  the  council.  It 
was  debated  whether  or  no,  with  safety  to  the  com 
mon  weal,  yonder  scarlet  letter  might  be  taken  off  your 
bosom.  On  my  life,  Hester,  I  made  my  entreaty  to  the 
worshipful  magistrate  that  it  might  be  done  forthwith  !  " 

"  It  lies  not  in  the  pleasure  of  the  magistrates  to  take 
off  this  badge,"  calmly  replied  Hester.  "  Were  I  worthy 
to  be  quit  of  it,  it  would  fall  away  of  its  own  nature, 
or  be  transformed  into  something  that  should  speak  a 
different  purport." 

"Nay,  then,  wear  it,  if  it  suit  you  better,"  rejoined  he. 
"  A  woman  must  needs  follow  her  own  fancy,  touching 
the  adornment  of  her  person.  The  letter  is  gayly  em 
broidered,  and  shows  right  bravely  on  your  bosom  ! " 

All  this  while,  Hester  had  been  looking  steadily  at 
the  old  man,  and  was  shocked,  as  well  as  wonder- 
smitten,  to  discern  what  a  change  had  been  wrought 
upon  him  within  the  past  seven  years.  It  was  not  so 
much  that  he  had  grown  older  ;  for  though  the  traces  of 
advancing  life  were  visible,  he  bore  his  age  well,  and 
seemed  to  retain  a  wiry  vigor  and  alertness.  But  the 
former  aspect  of  an  intellectual  and  studious  man,  calm 
and  quiet,  which  was  what  she  best  remembered  in 
him,  had  altogether  vanished,  and  been  succeeded  by  an 
eager,  searching,  almost  fierce,  yet  carefully  guarded 
look.  It  seemed  to  be  his  wish  and  purpose  to  mask 
this  expression  with  a  smile ;  but  the  latter  played  him 


*92  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

false,  and  flickered  over  his  visage  so  derisively,  that  the 
spectator  could  see  his  blackness  all  the  better  for  it. 
Ever  and  anon,  too,  there  came  a  glare  of  red  light  out 
of  his  eyes ;  as  if  the  old  man's  soul  were  on  fire,  and 
kept  on  smouldering  duskily  within  his  breast,  until,  by 
some  casual  puff  of  passion,  it  was  blown  into  a  momen 
tary  flame.  This  he  repressed,  as  speedily  as  possible, 
and  strove  to  look  as  if  nothing  of  the  kind  had  hap 
pened. 

In  a  word,  old  Roger  Chillingworth  was  a  striking 
evidence  of  man's  faculty  of  transforming  himself  into 
a  devil,  if  he  will  only,  for  a  reasonable  space  of  time, 
undertake  a  devil's  office.  This  unhappy  person  had 
effected  such  a  transformation,  by  devoting  himself,  for 
seven  years,  to  the  constant  analysis  of  a  heart  full  of 
torture,  and  deriving  his  enjoyment  thence,  and  adding 
fuel  to  those  fiery  tortures  which  he  analyzed  and  gloated 
over. 

The  scarlet  letter  burned  on  Hester  Prynne's  bosom. 
Here  was  another  ruin,  the  responsibility  of  which  came 
partly  home  to  her. 

"What  see  you  in  my  face,"  asked  the  physician, 
' *  that  you  look  at  it  so  earnestly  ?  " 

"  Something  that  would  make  me  weep,  if  there  were 
any  tears  bitter  enough  for  it,"  answered  she.  "But 
let  it  pass  !  It  is  of  yonder  miserable  man  that  I  would 
speak." 

"And  what  of  him?"  cried  Roger  Chillingworth, 
eagerly,  as  if  he  loved  the  topic,  and  were  glad  of  an 
opportunity  to  discuss  it  with  the  only  person  of  whom 
he  could  make  a  confidant.  "Not  to -hide  the  truth, 
Mistress  Hester,  my  thoughts  happen  just  now  to  be 
busy  with  the  gentleman.  So  speak  freely ;  and  I  will 
make  answer." 


HESTER    AND    THE    PHYSICIAN.  ^93 

"When  we  last  spake  together/5  said  Hester,  "now 
seven  years  ago,  it  was  your  pleasure  to  extort  a 
promise  of  secrecy,  as  touching  the  former  relation 
betwixt  yourself  and  me.  As  the  life  and  good  fame 
of  yonder  man  were  in  your  hands,  there  seemed  no 
choice  to  me,  save  to  be  silent,  in  accordance  with 
your  behest.  Yet  it  was  not  without  heavy  misgivings 
that  I  thus  bound  myself;  for,  having  cast  off  all  duty 
towards  other  human  beings,  there  remained  a  duty 
towards  him ;  and  something  whispered  me  that  I  was 
betraying  it,  in  pledging  myself  to  keep  your  counsel, 
Since  that  day,  no  man  is  so  near  to  him  as  you.  You 
tread  behind  his  every  footstep.  You  are  beside  him, 
sleeping  and  waking.  You  search  his  thoughts.  You 
burrow  and  rankle  in  his  heart !  Your  clutch  is  on 
his  life,  and  you  cause  him  to  die  daily  a  living  death ; 
and  still  he  knows  you  not.  In  permitting  this,  I  have 
surely  acted  a  false  part  by  the  only  man  to  whom  the 
power  was  left  me  to  be  true ! " 

"  What  choice  had  you  ? "  asked  Roger  Chilling- 
worth.  "My  finger,  pointed  at  this  man,  would  have 
hurled  him  from  his  pulpit  into  a  dungeon,  —  thence, 
peradventure,  to  the  gallows  !  " 

"  It  had  been  better  so  !  "  said  Hester  Prynne. 

"  What  evil  have  I  done  the  man  ? "  asked  Roger 
Chillingworth  again.  "  I  tell  thee,  Hester  Prynne,  the 
richest  fee  that  ever  physician  earned  from  monarch 
could  not  have  bought  such  care  as  I  have  wasted 
on  this  miserable  priest!  But  for  my  aid,  his  life 
would  have  burned  away  in  torments,  within  the  first 
two  years  after  the  perpetration  of  his  crime  and  thine. 
For,  Hester,  his  spirit  lacked  the  strength  that  could 
have  borne  up,  as  thine  has,  beneath  a  burden  like  thy 
scarlet  letter.  0,  I  could  reveal  a  goodly  secret !  But 


194  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

enough  !  What  art  can  do,  I  have  exhausted  on  him. 
That  he  now  breathes,  and  creeps  about  on  earth,  is 
owing  all  to  me !  " 

"  Better  he  had  died  at  once  !  "  said  Hester  Prynne. 

"  Yea,  woman,  thou  sayest  truly !  "  cried  old  Roger 
Chillingworth,  letting  the  lurid  fire  of  his  heart  blaze 
out  before  her  eyes.  "  Better  had  he  died  at  once  ! 
Never  did  mortal  suffer  what  this  man  has  suffered. 
And  all,  all,  in  the  sight  of  his  worst  enemy !  He  has 
been  conscious  of  me.  He  has  felt  an  influence  dwelling 
always  upon  him  like  a  curse.  He  knew,  by  some  spir 
itual  sense,  —  for  the  Creator  never  made  another  being 
so  sensitive  as  this,  —  he  knew  that  no  friendly  hand 
was  pulling  at  his  heart-strings,  and  that  an  eye  was 
looking  curiously  into  him,  which  sought  only  evil,  and 
found  it.  But  he  knew  not  that  the  eye  and  hand  were 
mine !  With  the  superstition  common  to  his  brother 
hood,  he  fancied  himself  given  over  to  a  fiend,  to  be  tor 
tured  with  frightful  dreams,  and  desperate  thoughts,  the 
sting  of  remorse,  and  despair  of  pardon ;  as  a  foretaste 
of  what  awaits  him  beyond  the  grave.  But  it  was  the 
constant  shadow  of  my  presence !  —  the  closest  propin 
quity  of  the  man  whom  he  had  most  vilely  wronged !  — 
and  who  had  grown  to  exist  only  by  this  perpetual 
poison  of  the  direst  revenge  !  Yea,  indeed !  —  he  did 
not  err! — there  was  a  fiend  at  his  elbow!  A  mortal 
man,  with  once  a  human  heart,  has  become  a  fiend  for 
his  especial  torment !  " 

The  unfortunate  physician,  while  uttering  these  words, 
lifted  his  hands  with  a  look  of  horror,  as  if  he  had  be 
held  some  frightful  shape,  which  he  could  not  recognize, 
usurping  the  place  of  his  own  image  in  a  glass.  It  was 
one  of  those  moments  —  which  sometimes  occur  only  at 
the  interval  of  years  —  when  a  man's  moral  aspect  is 


HESTEE   AND    THE    PHYSICIAN.  195 

faithfully  revealed  to  his  mind's  eye.  Not  improbably, 
he  had  never  before  viewed  himself  as  he  did  now. 

"  Hast  thou  not  tortured  him  enough  ?  "  said  Hester, 
noticing  the  old  man's  look.  "  Has  he  not  paid  thee 
all?" 

"  No  !  —  no  !  —  He  has  but  increased  the  debt !  "  an 
swered  the  physician ;  and  as  he  proceeded,  his  manner 
lost  its  fiercer  characteristics,  and  subsided  into  gloom. 
"  Dost  thou  remember  me,  Hester,  as  I  was  nine  years 
agone  ?  Even  then,  I  was  in  the  autumn  of  my  days, 
nor  was  it  the  early  autumn.  But  all  my  life  had  been 
made  up  of  earnest,  studious,  thoughtful,  quiet  years, 
bestowed  faithfully  for  the  increase  of  mine  own  knowl 
edge,  and  faithfully,  too,  though  this  latter  object  was 
but  casual  to  the  other,  —  faithfully  for  the  advancement 
of  human  welfare.  No  life  had  been  more  peaceful  and 
innocent  than  mine  ;  few  lives  so  rich  with  benefits  con 
ferred.  Dost  thou  remember  me  ?  Was  I  not,  though 
you  might  deem  me  cold,  nevertheless  a  man  thoughtful 
for  others,  craving  little  for  himself,  —  kind,  true,  just, 
and  of  constant,  if  not  warm  affections  ?  Was  I  not  all 
•this?" 

"  All  this,  and  more/'  said  Hester. 

"  And  what  am  I  now  ?  "  demanded  he,  looking  into 
her  face,  and  permitting  the  whole  evil  within  him  to 
be  written  on  his  features.  "  I  have  already  told  thee 
what  I  am  !  A  fiend !  Who  made  me  so  ?  " 

"  It  was  myself !  "  cried  Hester,  shuddering.  "  It 
was  I,  not  less  than  he.  Why  hast  thou  not  avenged 
thyself  on  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  left  thee  to  the  scarlet  letter/'  replied  Roger 
Chillingworth.  "  If  that  have  not  avenged  me,  I  can  do 
no  more !  " 

He  laid  his  finger  on  it^  with  a  smile. 


196  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

"  It  has  avenged  thee  !  "  answered  Hester  Prynne. 

"  I  judged  no  less,"  said  the  physician.  "  And  now, 
what  wouldst  thou  with  me  touching  this  man  ?  " 

"I  must  reveal  the  secret/'  answered  Hester,  firmly. 
"He  must  discern  thee  in  thy  true  character.  What 
may  be  the  result,  I  know  not.  But  this  long  debt  of 
confidence,  due  from  me  to  him,  whose  bane  and  ruin 
I  have  been,  shall  at  length  be  paid.  So  far  as  concerns 
the  overthrow  or  preservation  of  his  fair  fame  and  his 
earthly  state,  and  perchance  his  life,  he  is  in  thy  hands. 
Nor  do  I,  —  whom  the  scarlet  letter  has  disciplined  to 
truth,  though  it  be  the  truth  of  red-hot  iron,  entering 
into  the  soul,  —  nor  do  I  percei  ve  such  advantage  in  his 
living  any  longer  a  life  of  ghastly  emptiness,  that  I  shall 
stoop  to  implore  thy  mercy.  Do  with  him  as  thou  wilt ! 
There  is  no  good  for  him,  — no  good  for  me,  —  no  good' 
for  thee !  There  is  no  good  for  little  Pearl !  There  is 
no  path  to  guide  us  out  of  this  dismal  maze  !  " 

"  Woman,  I  could  wellnigh  pity  thee !  "  said  Roger 
Chillingworth,  unable  to  restrain  a  thrill  of  admiration 
too ;  for  there  was  a  quality  almost  majestic  in  the  de 
spair  which  she  expressed.  "  Thou  hadst  great  elements. 
Peradventure,  hadst  thou  met  earlier  with  a  better  love 
than  mine,  this  evil  had  not  been.  I  pity  thee,  for  the 
good  that  has  been  wasted  in  thy  nature  !  " 

"  And  I  thee,"  answered  Hester  Prynne,  "  for  the  ha 
tred  that  has  transformed  a  wise  and  just  man  to  a  fiend  ! 
Wilt  thou  yet  purge  it  out  of  thee,  and  be  once  more 
human  ?  If  not  for  his  sake,  then  doubly  for  thine  own  ! 
Forgive,  and  leave  his  further  retribution  to  the  Power 
that  claims  it !  I  said,  but  now,  that  there  could  be  no 
good  event  for  him,  or  thee,  or  me,  who  are  here  wan 
dering  together  in  this  gloomy  maze  of  evil,  and  stum 
bling,  at  every  step,  over  the  guilt  wherewith  we  have 


HESTER   AND   THE   PHYSICIAN.  197 

strewn  our  path.  It  is  not  so  !  There  might  be  good 
for  thee,  and  thee  alone,  since  thou  hast  been  deeply 
wronged,  and  hast  it  at  thy  will  to  pardon.  Wilt  thou 
give  up  that  only  privilege?  Wilt  thou  reject  that 
priceless  benefit  ?  " 

"  Peace,  Hester,  peace!"  replied  the  old  man,  with 
gloomy  sternness.  "  It  is  not  granted  me  to  pardon. 
I  have  no  such  power  as  thou  tellest  me  of.  My  old 
"aith,  long  forgotten,  comes  back  to  me,  and  explains  all 
hat  we  do,  and  all  we  suffer.  By  thy  first  step  awry 
,hou  didst  plant  the  germ  of  evil ;  but  since  that  mo 
ment,  it  has  all  been  a  dark  necessity.  Ye  that  have 
wronged  me  are  not  sinful,  save  in  a  kind  of  typical  illu 
sion;  neither  am  I  fiend-like,  who  have  snatched  a 
fiend's  office  from  his  hands.  It  is  our  fate.  Let  the 
black  flower  blossom  as  it  may  !  Now  go  thy  ways,  and 
ieal  as  thou  wilt  with  yonder  man." 

He  waved  his  hand,  and  betook  himself  again  to  hit 
employment  of  gathering  herbs. 


XV. 
HESTER  AND  PEAKL, 

0  Roger  Chillingworth  —  a  deformed  old  figure, 
with  a  face  that  haunted  men's  memories  longer 
than  they  liked  —  took  leave  of  Hester  Prynne, 
and  went  stooping  away  along  the  earth.  He  gathered 
here  and  there  an  herb,  or  grubbed  up  a  root,  and  put 
it  into  the  basket  on  his  arm.  His  gray  beard  almost 
touched  the  ground,  as  he  crept  onward.  Hester  gazed 
after  him  a  little  while,  looking  with  a  half-fantastic  curi 
osity  to  see,  whether  the  tender  grass  of  early  spring 
would  not  be  blighted  beneath  him,  and  show  the  waver 
ing  track  of  his  footsteps,  sere  and  brown,  across  its 
cheerful  verdure.  She  wondered  what  sort  of  herbs  they 
were,  which  the  old  man  was  so  sedulous  to  gather. 
Would  not  the  earth,  quickened  to  an  evil  purpose  by 
the  sympathy  of  his  eye,  greet  him  with  poisonous  shrubs, 
of  species  hitherto  unknown,  that  would  start  up  under 
his  fingers  ?  Or  might  it  suffice  him,  that  every  whole 
some  growth  should  be  converted  into  something  delete 
rious  and  malignant  at  his  touch  ?  Did  the  sun,  which 
shone  so  brightly  everywhere  else,  really  fall  upon  him  ? 
Or  was  there,  as  it  rather  seemed,  a  circle  of  ominous 
shadow  moving  along  with  his  deformity,  whichever  way 
he  turned  himself  ?  And  whither  was  he  now  going  ? 


HESTER    AND    PEARL.  199 

»\  ould  he  not  suddenly  sink  into  the  earth,  leaving  a 
barren  and  blasted  spot,  where,  in  due  course  of  time, 
would  be  seen  deadly  nightshade,  dogwood,  henbane, 
and  whatever  else  of  vegetable  wickedness  the  climate 
could  produce,  all  nourishing  with  hideous  luxuriance  ? 
Or  would  he  spread  bat's  wings  and  flee  away,  looking 
so  much  the  uglier,  the  higher  he  rose  towards  heaven? 

"  Be  it  sin  or  no,"  said  Hester  Prynne,  bitterly,  as  she 
still  gazed  after  him,  "  I  hate  the  man  !  " 

She  upbraided  herself  for  the  sentiment,  but  could  not 
overcome  or  lessen  it.  Attempting  to  do  so,  she  thought 
of  those  long-past  days,  in  a  distant  land,  when  he  used 
to  emerge  at  eventide  from  the  seclusion  of  his  study, 
and  sit  down  in  the  firelight  of  their  home,  and  in  the 
light  of  her  nuptial  smile.  He  needed  to  bask  himself 
in  that  smile,  he  said,  in  order  that  the  chill  of  so  many 
lonely  hours  among  his  books  might  be  taken  off  the 
scholar's  heart.  Such  scenes  had  once  appeared  not 
otherwise  than  happy,  but  now,  as  viewed  through  the 
dismal  medium  of  her  subsequent  life,  they  classed  them 
selves  among  her  ugliest  remembrances.  She  marvelled 
how  such  scenes  could  have  been !  She  marvelled  how 
she  could  ever  have  been  wrought  upon  to  marry  him ! 
She  deemed  it  her  crime  most  to  be  repented  of,  that  she 
had  ever  endured,  and  reciprocated,  the  lukewarm  grasp 
of  his  hand,  and  had  suffered  the  smile  of  her  lips  and 
eyes  to  mingle  and  melt  into  his  own.  And  it  seemed 
a  fouler  offence  committed  by  Roger  Chillingworth,  than 
any  which  had  since  been  done  him,  that,  in  the  time 
when  her  heart  knew  no  better,  he  had  persuaded  her  to 
fancy  herself  happy  by  his  side. 

"  Yes,  I  hate  him ! "  repeated  Hester,  more  bitterly 
than  before.  "  He  betrayed  me  !  He  has  done  me  worse 
wrong  than  I  did  him  !  " 


200         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

y  Let  men  tremble  to  win  the  hand  of  woman,  unless 
they  win  along  with  it  the  utmost  passion  of  her  heart ! 
Else  it  may  be  their  miserable  fortune,  as  it  was  Roger 
Chillingworth's,  when  some  mightier  touch  than  their 
own  may  have  awakened  all  her  sensibilities,  to  be  re 
proached  even  for  the  calm  content,  the  marble  image  of 
happiness,  which  they  will  have  imposed  upon  her  as  the 
warm  reality.  But  Hester  ought  long  ago  to  have  done 
with  this  injustice.  What  did  it  betoken  ?  Had  seven 
long  years,  under  the  torture  of  the.  scarlet  letter,  in 
flicted  so  much  of  misery,  and  wrought  out  no  repent 
ance  ? 

The  emotions  of  that  brief  space,  while  she  stood  gaz 
ing  after  the  crooked  figure  of  old  Roger  Chillingworth, 
threw  a  dark  light  on  Hester's  state  of  mind,  revealing 
much  that  she  might  not  otherwise  have  acknowledged 
to  herself. 

He  being  gone,  she  summoned  back  her  child. 

"  Pearl !     Little  Pearl !     Where  are  you  ?  * 

Pearl,  whose  activity  of  spirit  never  nagged,  had  been 
at  no  loss  for  amusement  while  her  mother  talked  with 
the  old  gatherer  of  herbs.  At  first,  as  already  told,  she 
had  flirted  fancifully  with  her  own  image  in  a  pool  of 
water,  beckoning  the  phantom  forth,  and  —  as  it  declined 
to  venture  —  seeking  a  passage  for  herself  into  its  sphere 
of  impalpable  earth  and  unattainable  sky.  Soon  finding, 
however,  that  either  she  or  the  image  was  unreal,  she 
turned  elsewhere  for  better  pastime.  She  made  little 
boats  out  of  birch-bark,  and  freighted  them  with  snail- 
shells,  and  sent  out  more  ventures  on  the  mighty  deep 
than  any  merchant  in  New  England  ;  but  the  larger  part 
of  them  foundered  near  the  shore.  She  seized  a  live 
horseshoe  by  the  tail,  and  made  prize  of  several  five- 
fingers,  and  laid  out  a  jelly-fish  to  melt  in  the  warm  sun. 


HESTER    AND    PEARL.  201 

Then  she  took  up  the  white  foam,  that  streaked  the  line 
of  the  advancing  tide,  and  threw  it  upon  the  breeze, 
scampering  after  it,  with  winged  footsteps,  to  catch  the 
great  snow-flakes  ere  they  fell.  Perceiving  a  flock  of 
beach-birds,  that  fed  and  fluttered  along  the  shore,  the 
naughty  child  picked  up  her  apron  full  of  pebbles,  and, 
creeping  from  rock  to  rock  after  these  small  sea-fowl,  dis 
played  remarkable  dexterity  in  pelting  them.  One  little 
gray  bird,  with  a  white  breast,  Pearl  was  almost  sure, 
had  been  hit  by  a  pebble,  and  fluttered  away  with  a 
broken  wing.  But  then  the  elf-child  sighed,  and  gave 
up  her  sport ;  because  it  grieved  her  to  have  done  harm 
to  a  little  being  that  was  as  wild  as  the  sea-breeze,  or  as 
wild  as  Pearl  herself. 

Her  final  employment  was  to  gather  sea-weed,  of 
various  kinds,  and  make  herself  a  scarf,  or  mantle,  and 
a  head-dress,  and  thus  assume  the  aspect  of  a  little  mer 
maid.  She  inherited  her  mother's  gift  for  devising 
drapery  and  costume.  As  the  last  touch  to  her  mer 
maid's  garb,  Pearl  took  some  eel -grass,  and  imitated,  as 
best  she  could,  on  her  own  bosom,  the  decoration  with 
which  she  was  so  familiar  on  her  mother's.  A  letter,  — 
the  letter  A,  —  but  freshly  green,  instead  of  scarlet ! 
The  child  bent  her  chin  upon  her  breast,  and  contem 
plated  this  device  with  strange  interest ;  even  as  if  the 
one  only  thing  for  which  she  had  been  sent  into  the 
world  was  to  make  out  its  hidden  import. 

"  I  wonder  if  mother  will  ask  me  what  it  means !  " 
thought  Pearl. 

Just  then,  she  heard  her  mother's  voice,  and  flitting 
along  as  lightly  as  one  of  the  little  sea-birds,  appeared 
before  Hester « Prynne,  dancing,  laughing,  and  pointing 
her  finger  to  the  ornament  upon  her  bosom. 

"My  little   Pearl,"   said   Hester,   after   a  moment's 
9* 


202  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

silence,  "the  green  letter,  and  on  thy  childish  bosom,  has 
no  purport.  But  dost  thou  know,  my  child,  what  this 
letter  means  which  thy  mother  is  doomed  to  wear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  the  child.  "  It  is  the  great  letter 
A.  Thou  hast  taught  me  in  the  horn -book." 

Hester  looked  steadily  into  her  little  face ;  but,  though 
there  was  that  singular  expression  which  she  had  so  often 
remarked  in  her  black  eyes,  she  could  not  satisfy  herself 
whether  Pearl  really  attached  any  meaning  to  the  symbol. 
She  felt  a  morbid  desire  to  ascertain  the  point. 

"  Dost  thou  know,  child,  wherefore  thy  mother  wears 
this  letter?" 

"  Truly  do  I !  "  answered  Pearl,  looking  brightly  into 
her  mother's  face.  "  It  is  for  the  same  reason  that  the 
minister  keeps  his  hand  over  his  heart !  " 

"  And  what  reason  is  that  ?  "  asked  Hester,  half  smil 
ing  at  the  absurd  incongruity  of  the  child's  observation  ; 
but,  on  second  thoughts,  turning  pale.  "  What  has  the 
letter  to  do  with  any  heart,  save  mine  ?  " 

"Nay,  mother,  I  have  told  all  I  know,"  said  Pearl, 
more  seriously  than  she  was  wont  to  speak.  "  Ask  yon 
der  old  man  whom  thou  hast  been  talking  with !  It  may 
be  he  can  tell.  But  in  good  earnest  now,  mother  dear, 
what  does  this  scarlet  letter  mean?  —  and  why  dost  thou 
wear  it  on  thy  bosom  ?  —  and  why  does  the  minister  keep 
his  hand  over  his  heart  ?  " 

She  took  her  mother's  hand  in  both  her  own,  and 
gazed  into  her  eyes  with  an  earnestness  that  was  seldom 
seen  in  her  wild  and  capricious  character.  The  thought 
occurred  to  Hester,  that  the  child  might  really  be  seek 
ing  to  approach  her  with  childlike  confidence,  and  doing 
what  she  could,  and  as  intelligently  as  she  knew  how,  to 
establish  a  meeting-point  of  sympathy.  It  showed  Pearl 
in  an  unwonted  aspect.  Heretofore,  the  mother,  while 


HESTER   AND    PEAHL.  203 

loving  her  child  with  the  intensity  of  a  sole  affection,  had 
schooled  herself  to  hope  for  little  other  return  than  the 
waywardness  of  an  April  breeze  ;  which  spends  its  time 
in  airy  sport,  and  has  its  gusts  of  inexplicable  passion,  and 
is  petulant  in  its  best  of  moods,  and  chills  oftener  than 
caresses  you,  when  you  take  it  to  your  bosom  ;  in  requital 
of  which  misdemeanors,  it  will  sometimes,  of  its  own 
rague  purpose,  kiss  your  cheek  with  a  kind  of  doubtful 
tenderness,  and  play  gently  with  your  hair,  and  then 
be  gone  about  its  other  idle  business,  leaving  a  dreamy 
pleasure  at  your  heart.  And  this,  moreover,  was  a  moth 
er's  estimate  of  the  child's  disposition.  Any  other  ob 
server  might  have  seen  few  but  unamiable  traits,  and 
have  given  them  a  far  darker  coloring.  But  now  the  idea 
came  strongly  into  Hester's  mind,  that  Pearl,  with  her 
remarkable  precocity  and  acuteness,  might  already  have 
approached  the  age  when  she  could  be  made  a  friend, 
and  intrusted  with  as  much  of  her  mother's  sorrows  as 
could  be  imparted,  without  irreverence  either  to  the  par 
ent  or  the  child.  In  the  little  chaos  of  Pearl's  character 
there  might  be  seen  emerging  —  and  could  have  been, 
from  the  very  first  —  the  steadfast  principles  of  an  un 
flinching  courage,  —  an  uncontrollable  will,  —  a  sturdy 
pride,  which  might  be  disciplined  into  self-respect,  —  and 
a  bitter  scorn  of  many  things,  which,  when  examined, 
might  be  found  to  have  the  taint  of  falsehood  in  them. 
She  possessed  affections,  too,  though  hitherto  acrid  and 
disagreeable,  as  are  the  richest  flavors  of  unripe  fruit. 
With  all  these  sterling  attributes,  thought  Hester,  the 
evil  which  she  inherited  from  her  mother  must  be  great 
indeed,  if  a  noble  woman  do  not  grow  out  of  this  elfish 
child. 

Pearl's  inevitable  tendency  to  hover  about  the  enigma 
of  the   scarlet  letter  seemed  an  innate   quality  of  her 


204         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

being.  Prom  the  earliest  epoch  of  her  conscious  life,  she 
had  entered  upon  this  as  her  appointed  mission.  Hester 
had  often  fancied  that  Providence  had  a  design  of  justice 
and  retribution,  in  endowing  the  child  with  this  marked 
propensity  ;  but  never,  until  now,  had  she  bethought  her 
self  to  ask,  whether,  linked  with  that  design,  there  might 
not  likewise  be  a  purpose  of  mercy  and  beneficence.  If 
little  Pearl  were  entertained  with  faith  and  trust,  as  a 
spirit  messenger  no  less  than  an  earthly  child,  might  it 
not  be  her  errand  to  soothe  away  the  sorrow  that  lay  cold 
in  her  mother's  heart,  and  converted  it  into  a  tomb  ?  — 
and  to  help  her  to  overcome  the  passion,  once  so  wild, 
and  even  yet  neither  dead  nor  asleep,  but  only  impris 
oned  within  the  same  tomb-like  heart  ? 

Such  were  some  of  the  thoughts  that  now  stirred  in 
Hester's  mind,  with  as  much  vivacity  of  impression 
as  if  they  had  actually  been  whispered  into  her  ear. 
And  there  was  little  Pearl,  all  this  while,  holding  her 
mother's  hand  in  both  her  own,  and  turning  her  face 
upward,  while  she  put  these  searching  questions,  once, 
and  again,  and  still  a  third  time. 

"  What  does  the  letter  mean,  mother  ?  —  and  why 
dost  thou  wear  it  ?  —  and  why  does  the  minister  keep  his 
hand  over  his  heart  ?  " 

"  What  shall  I  say  ? "  thought  Hester  to  herself. 
"  No !  If  this  be  the  price  of  the  child's  sympathy,  I 
cannot  pay  it." 

Then  she  spoke  aloud. 

"  Silly  Pearl,"  said  she,  "  what  questions  are  these  ? 
There  are  many  things  in  this  world  that  a  child  must 
not  ask  about.  What  know  I  of  the  minister's  heart  ? 
And  as  for  the  scarlet  letter,  I  wear  it  for  the  sake  of  its 
gold-thread." 

In  all  the   seven  bygone  years,  Hester  Prynue  had 


HESTER    AND    PEARL.  205 

never  before  been  false  to  the  symbol  on  her  bosom.  It 
may  be  that  it  was  the  talisman  of  a  stern  and  severe, 
but  yet  a  guardian  spirit,  who  now  forsook  her ;  as  rec 
ognizing  that,  in  spite  of  his  strict  watch  over  her  heart, 
some  new  evil  had  crept  into  it,  or  some  old  one  had 
never  been  expelled.  As  for  little  Pearl,  the  earnestness 
soon  passed  out  of  her  face. 

But  the  child  did  not  see  fit  to  let  the  matter  drop. 
Two  or  three  times,  as  her  mother  and  she  went  home 
ward,  and  as  often  at  supper-time,  and  while  Hester  was 
putting  her  to  bed,  and  once  after  she  seemed  to  be  fairly 
asleep,  Pearl  looked  up,  with  mischief  gleaming  in  her 
black  eyes. 

"  Mother,"  said  she,  "  what  does  the  scarlet  letter 
mean  ?  " 

And  the  next  morning,  the  first  indication  the  child 
gave  of  being  awake  was  by  popping  up  her  head  from 
the  pillow,  and  making  that  other  inquiry,  which  she  had 
so  unaccountably  connected  with  her  investigations  about 
the  scarlet  letter :  — 

"  Mother !  —  Mother !  —  Why  does  the  minister  keep 
his  hand  over  his  heart  ?  " 

"  Hold  thy  tongue,  naughty  child ! "  answered  her 
mother,  with  an  asperity  -that  she  had  never  permitted 
to  herself  before.  "Do  not  tease  me;  else  I  shall  shut 
thee  into  the  dark  closet !  " 


XYL 
A  FOREST  WALK, 

ESTER  PRYNNE  remained  constant  in  her 
resolve  to  make  known  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  at 
whatever  risk  of  present  pain  or  ulterior  conse 
quences,  the  true  character  of  the  man  who  had  crept 
into  his  intimacy.  For  several  days,  however,  she  vainlj 
sought  an  opportunity  of  addressing  him  in  some  of  the 
meditative  walks  which  she  knew  him  to  be  in  the  habit 
of  taking,  along  the  shores  of  the  peninsula,  or  on  the 
wooded  hills  of  the  neighboring  country.  There  would 
have  been  no  scandal,  indeed,  nor  peril  to  the  holy  white 
ness  of  the  clergyman's  good  fame,  had  she  visited  him 
in  his  own  study ;  where  many  a  penitent,  ere  now,  had 
confessed  sins  of  perhaps  as  deep  a  dye  as  the  one 
betokened  by  the  scarlet  letter.  But,  partly  that  she 
dreaded  the  secret  or  undisguised  interference  of  old 
Roger  Chillingworth,  and  partly  that  her  conscious  heart 
imputed  suspicion  where  none  could  have  been  felt,  and 
partly  that  both  the  minister  and  she  would  need  the 
whole  wide  world  to  breathe  in,  while  they  talked  to 
gether,  —  for  all  these  reasons,  Hester  never  thought  of 
meeting  him  in  any  narrower  privacy  than  beneath  the 
open  sky. 


A    FOREST    WALK.  207 

At  last,  while  attending  in  a  sick-chamber,  whither  I  lie 
Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  been  summoned  to  make 
a  prayer,  she  learnt  that  he  had  gone,  the  day  before,  to 
visit  the  Apostle  Eliot,  among  his  Indian  converts.  He 
would  probably  return,  by  a  certain  hour,  in  the  after 
noon  of  the  morrow.  Betimes,  therefore,  the  next  day, 
Hester  took  little  Pearl,  —  who  was  necessarily  the  com 
panion  of  all  her  mother's  expeditions,  however  incon 
venient  her  presence,  —  and  set  forth. 

The  road,  after  the  two  wayfarers  had  crossed  from 
the  peninsula  to  the  mainland,  was  no  other  than  a  foot 
path.  It  straggled  onward  into  the  mystery  of  the  pri 
meval  forest.  This  hemmed  it  in  so  narrowly,  and  stood 
so  black  and  dense  on  either  side,  and  disclosed  such 
imperfect  glimpses  of  the  sky  above,  that,  to  Hester's 
mind,  it  imaged  not  amiss  the  moral  wilderness  in  which 
she  had  so  long  been  wandering.  The  day  was  chill  and 
sombre.  Overhead  was  a  gray  expanse  of  cloud,  slightly 
stirred,  however,  by  a  breeze ;  so  that  a  gleam  of  nick 
ering  sunshine  might  now  and  then  be  seen  at  its  solitary 
play  along  the  path.  This  flitting  cheerfulness  was  al 
ways  at  the  farther  extremity  of  some  long  vista  through 
the  forest.  The  sportive  sunlight  —  feebly  sportive,  at 
best,  in  the  predominant  pensiveness  of  the  day  and 
scene  —  withdrew  itself  as  they  came  nigh,  and  left  the 
spots  where  it  had  danced  the  drearier,  because  they  had 
hoped  to  find  them  bright. 

"Mother,"  said  little  Pearl,  "the  sunshine  does  not 
love  you.  It  runs  away  and  hides  itself,  because  it  is 
afraid  of  something  on  your  bosom.  Now,  see  !  There 
it  is,  playing,  a  good  way  off.  Stand  you  here,  and  let 
me  run  and  catch  it.  I  am  but  a  child.  It  will  not  flee 
from  me ;  for  I  wear  nothing  on  my  bosom  yet !  " 

"  Nor  ever  will,  my  child,  I  hope,"  said  Hester. 


208  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

"  And  why  not,  mother  ?  "  asked  Pearl,  stopping  short, 
just  at  the  beginning  of  her  race.  "  Will  not  it  come  of 
its  own  accord,  when  I  am  a  woman  grown  ?  " 

"  Run  away,  child/5  answered  her  mother,  "  and  catch 
the  sunshine  !  It  will  soon  be  gone." 

Pearl  set  forth,  at  a  great  pace,  and,  as  Hester  smiled 
to  perceive,  did  actually  catch  the  sunshine,  and  stood 
laughing  in  the  midst  of  it,  all  brightened  by  its  splen 
dor,  and  scintillating  with  the  vivacity  excited  by  rapid 
motion.  The  light  lingered  about  the  lonely  child,  as  if 
glad  of  such  a  playmate,  until  her  mother  had  drawn 
almost  nigh  enough  to  step  into  the  magic  circle  too. 

"  It  will  go  now,"  said  Pearl,  shaking  her  head. 

"  See  !  "  answered  Hester,  smiling.  "  Now  I  can 
stretch  out  my  hand,  and  grasp  some  of  it." 

As  she  attempted  to  do  so,  the  sunshine  vanished; 
or,  to  judge  from  the  bright  expression  that  was  dancing 
on  Pearl's  features,  her  mother  could  have  fancied  that 
the  child  had  absorbed  it  into  herself,  and  would  give  it 
forth  again,  with  a  gleam  about  her  path,  as  they  should 
plunge  into  some  gloomier  shade.  There  was  no  other 
attribute  that  so  much  impressed  her  with  a  sense  of 
new  and  untransmitted  vigor  in  Pearl's  nature,  as  this 
never-failing  vivacity  of  spirits ;  she  had  not  the  disease 
of  sadness,  which  almost  all  children,  in  these  latter  days, 
inherit,  with  the  scrofula,  from  the  troubles  of  their  an 
cestors.  Perhaps  this  too  was  a  disease,  and  but  the 
reflex  of  the  wild  energy  with  which  Hester  had  fought 
against  her  sorrows,  before  Pearl's  birth.  It  was  cer 
tainly  a  doubtful  charm,  imparting  a  hard,  metallic  lustre 
to  the  child's  character.  She  wanted  —  what  some  people 
want  throughout  life  —  a  grief  that  should  deeply  touch 
her,  and  thus  humanize  and  make  her  capable  of  sympa 
thy.  But  there  was  time  enough  yet  for  little  Pearl. 


A    FOREST   WALK.  209 

"  Come,  my  child ! "  said  Hester,  looking  about  her 
from  the  spot  where  Pearl  had  stood  still  in  the  sun 
shine.  "  We  will  sit  down  a  little  way  within  the  wood, 
and  rest  ourselves." 

"I  am  not  aweary,  mother,"  replied  the  little  girl. 
"But  you  may  sit  down,  if  you  will  tell  m**  a  story 
meanwhile." 

"  A  story,  child  !  "  said  Hester.     "  And  about  what  ?  " 

"  O,  a  story  about  the  Black  Man,"  answered  Pearl, 
taking  hold  of  her  mother's  gown,  and  looking  up,  half 
earnestly,  half  mischievously,  into  her  face.  "  How  he 
haunts  this  forest,  and  carries  a  book  with  him,  —  a  big, 
heavy  book,  with  iron  clasps ;  and  how  this  ugly  Black 
Man  offers  his  book  and  an  iron  pen  to  everybody  that 
meets  him  here  among  the  trees ;  and  they  are  to  write 
their  names  with  their  own  blood.  And  then  he  sets  his 
mark  on  their  bosoms !  Didst  thou  ever  meet  the  Black 
Man,  mother  ?  " 

"  And  who  told  you  this  story,  Pearl  ?  "  asked  her 
mother,  recognizing  a  common  superstition  of  the  period. 

"  It  was  the  old  dame  in  the  chimney-corner,  at  the 
house  where  you  watched  last  night,"  said  the  child. 
"  But  she  fancied  me  asleep  while  she  was  talking  of  it. 
She  said  that  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  people  had 
met  him  here,  and  had  written  in  his  book,  and  have  his 
mark  on  them.  And  that  ugly-tempered  lady,  old  Mis 
tress  Hibbins,  was  one.  And,  mother,  the  old  dame  said 
that  this  scarlet  letter  was  the  Black  Man's  mark  on 
thee,  and  that  it  glows  like  a  red  flame  when  thou  meet- 
est  him  at  midnight,  here  in  the  dark  wood.  Is  it  true, 
mother  ?  And  dost  thou  go  to  meet  him  in  the  night 
time?" 

"  Didst  thou  ever  awake,  and  find  thy  mother  gone  ?  " 
asked  Hester. 


210         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

"Not  that  I  remember/3  said  the  child.  "If  thou 
fearest  to  leave  me  in  our  cottage,  thou  mightest  take 
me  along  with  thee.  I  would  very  gladly  go !  But, 
mother,  tell  me  now!  Is  there  such  a  Black  Man? 
And  didst  thou  ever  meet  him  ?  And  is  this  his  mark  ?  " 

"Wilt  thou  let  me  be  at  peace,  if  I  once  tell  thee?" 
asked  her  mother. 

"  Yes,  if  thou  tellest  me  all,"  answered  Pearl. 

"  Once  in  my  life  I  met  the  Black  Man !  "  said  hei 
mother.  "  This  scarlet  letter  is  his  mark  !  " 

Thus  conversing,  they  entered  sufficiently  deep  into 
the  wood  to  secure  themselves  from  the  observation  of 
any  casual  passenger  along  the  forest  track.  Here  they 
sat  down  on  a  luxuriant  heap  of  moss ;  which,  at  some 
epoch  of  the  preceding  century,  had  been  a  gigantic  pine, 
with  its  roots  and  trunk  in  the  darksome  shade,  and  its 
head  aloft  in  the  upper  atmosphere.  It  was  a  little  dell 
where  they  had  seated  themselves,  with  a  leaf-strewn 
bank  rising  gently  on  either  side,  and  a  brook  flowing 
through  the  midst,  over  a  bed  of  fallen  and  drowned 
leaves.  The  trees  impending  over  it  had  flung  down 
great  branches,  from  time  to  time,  which  choked  up  the 
current  and  compelled  it  to  form  eddies  and  black  depths 
at  some  points ;  while,  in  its  swifter  and  livelier  passages, 
there  appeared  a  channel-way  of  pebbles,  and  brown, 
sparkling  sand.  Letting  the  eyes  follow  along  the 
course  of  the  stream,  they  could  catch  the  reflected  light 
from  its  water,  at  some  short  distance  within  the  forest, 
but  soon  lost  all  traces  of  it  amid  the  bewilderment  of 
tree-trunks  and  underbrush,  and  here  and  there  a  huge 
rock  covered  over  with  gray  lichens.  All  these  giant 
trees  and  bowlders  of  granite  seemed  intent  on  making  a 
mystery  of  the  course  of  this  small  brook ;  fearing,  per 
haps,  that,  with  its  never-ceasing  loquacity,  it  should 


A    FOREST   WALK.  211 

whisper  tales  out  of  the  heart  of  the  old  forest  whence 
it  flowed,  or  mirror  its  revelations  on  the  smooth  surface 
of  a  pool.  Continually,  indeed,  as  it  stole  onward,  the 
streamlet  kept  up  a  babble,  kind,  quiet,  soothing,  but 
melancholy,  like  the  voice  of  a  young  child  that  was 
spending  its  infancy  without  playfulness,  and  knew  not 
how  to  be  merry  among  sad  acquaintance  and  events  of 
sombre  hue. 

"0  brook  !  0  foolish  and  tiresome  little  brook  !  "  crie^, 
Pearl,  after  listening  awhile  to  its  talk.  "  Why  art  thou 
so  sad  ?  Pluck  up  a  spirit,  and  do  not  be  all  the  time 
sighing  and  murmuring  !  " 

But  the  brook,  in  the  course  of  its  little  lifetime  among 
the  forest-trees,  had  gone  through  so  solemn  an  experi 
ence  that  it  could  not  help  talking  about  it,  and  seemed 
to  have  nothing  else  to  say.  Pearl  resembled  the  brook, 
inasmuch  as  the  current  of  her  life  gushed  from  a  well- 
spring  as  mysterious,  and  had  flowed  through  scenes 
shadowed  as  heavily  with  gloom.  But,  unlike  the  little 
stream,  she  danced  and  sparkled,  and  prattled  airily  along 
her  course. 

"What  does  this  sad  little  brook  say,  mother?"  in 
quired  she. 

"  If  thou  hadst  a  sorrow  of  thine  own,  the  brook  might 
tell  thee  of  it,"  answered  her  mother,  "  even  as  it  is 
telling  me  of  mine !  But  now,  Pearl,  I  hear  a  footstep 
along  the  path,  and  the  noise  of  one  putting  aside  the 
branches.  I  would  have  thee  betake  thyself  to  play,  and 
leave  me  to  speak  with  him  that  comes  yonder." 

"  Is  it  the  Black  Man  ?  "  asked  Pearl. 

"  Wilt  thou  go  and  play,  child  ?  "  repeated  her  mother. 
"  But  do  not  stray  far  into  the  wood.  And  take  heed 
that  thou  come  at  my  first  call." 

"  Yes,  mother,"  answered  Pearl.     "But  if  it  be  the 


212  THE    SCABLET    LETTER. 

Black  Man,  wilt  thou  not  let  me  stay  a  moment,  and 
look  at  him,  with  his  big  book  under  his  arm  ?  " 

"  Go,  silly  child  !  "  said  her  mother,  impatiently.  "  It 
is  no  Black  Man  !  Thou  canst  see  him  now,  through  the 
trees.  It  is  the  minister !  " 

"  And  so  it  is !  "  said  the  child.  "  And,  mother,  he 
has  his  hand  over  his  heart !  Is  it  because,  when  the 
minister  wrote  his  name  in  the  book,  the  Black  Man  set 
his  mark  in  that  place  ?  But  why  does  he  not  wear  it 
outside  his  bosom,  as  thou  dost,  mother  ?  " 

"  Go  now,  child,  and  thou  shalt  tease  me  as  thou  wilt 
another  time/5  cried  Hester  Prynne.  "  But  do  not  stray 
far.  Keep  where  thou  canst  hear  the  babble  of  the 
brook." 

The  child  went  singing  away,  following  up  the  current 
of  the  brook,  and  striving  to  mingle  a  more  lightsome 
cadence  with  its  melancholy  voice.  But  the  little  stream 
would  not  be  comforted,  and  still  kept  telling  its  unin 
telligible  secret  of  some  very  mournful  mystery  that  had 
happened  —  or  making  a  prophetic  lamentation  about 
something  that  was  yet  to  happen  —  within  the  verge  of 
the  dismal  forest.  So  Pearl,  who  had  enough  of  shadow 
in  her  own  little  life,  chose  to  break  off  all  acquaintance 
with  this  repining  brook.  She  set  herself,  therefore,  to 
gathering  violets  and  wood-anemones,  and  some  scarlet 
columbines  that  she  found  growing  in  the  crevices  of  a 
high  rock. 

When  her  elf-child  had  departed,  Hester  Prynne  made 
a  step  or  two  towards  the  track  that  led  through  the  for 
est,  but  still  remained  under  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
trees.  She  beheld  the  minister  advancing  along  the 
path,  entirely  alone,  and  leaning  on  a  staff  which  he  had 
cut  by  the  wayside.  He  looked  haggard  and  feeble,  and 
betrayed  a  nerveless  despondency  in  his  air,  which  had 


A    FOREST   WALK.  213 

never  so  remarkably  characterized  him  in  his  walks  about 
the  settlement,  nor  in  any  other  situation  where  he 
deemed  himself  liable  to  notice.  Here  it  was  wofully 
visible,  in  this  intense  seclusion  of  the  forest,  which  of 
itself  would  have  been  a  heavy  trial  to  the  spirits. 
There  was  a  listlessness  in  his  gait ;  as  if  he  saw  no 
reason  for  taking  one  step  farther,  nor  felt  any  desire  to 
do  so,  but  would  have  been  glad,  could  he  be  glad  of 
anything,  to  fling  himself  down  at  the  root  of  the  nearest 
tree,  and  lie  there  passive,  forevermore.  The  leaves 
might  bestrew  him,  and  the  soil  gradually  accumulate 
and  form  a  little  hillock  over  his  frame,  no  matter  whether 
there  were  life  in  it  or  no.  Death  was  too  definite  an 
object  to  be  wished  for,  or  avoided. 

To  Hester's  eye,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  ex 
hibited  no  symptom  of  positive  and  vivacious  suffering, 
except  thatj,  as  little  Pearl  had  remarked,  he  kept  his  hand 
over  his  heart. 


XVII 

i'HE   PASTOE   AND   HIS   PARISHIONER 

IJLOWLY  as  tlie  minister  walked,  he  had  almost 
gone  by,  before  Hester  Prynne  could  gather 
voice  enough  'to  attract  his  observation.  At 
length,  she  succeeded. 

"  Arthur  Dimmesdale  !  "  she  said,  faintly  at  first ;  then 
louder,  but  hoarsely.  "  Arthur  Dimmesdale  !  " 

"  Who  speaks  ?  "  answered  the  minister. 

Gathering  himself  quickly  up,  he  stood  more  erect, 
like  a  man  taken  by  surprise  in  a  mood  to  which  he 
was  reluctant  to  have  witnesses.  Throwing  his  eyes 
anxiously  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  he  indistinctly 
beheld  a  form  under  the  trees,  clad  in  garments  so  som 
bre,  and  so  little  relieved  from  the  gray  twilight  into 
which  the  clouded  sky  and  the  heavy  foliage  had  darkened 
the  noontide,  that  he  knew  not  whether  it  were  a  woman 
or  a  shadow.  It  may  be,  that  his  pathway  through  life 
was  haunted  thus,  by  a  spectre  that  had  stolen  out  from 
among  his  thoughts. 

He  made  a  step  nigher,  and  discovered  the  scarlet 
letter. 

"Hester!  Hester  Prynne!"  said  he.  "Is  it  thou? 
Art  thou  in  life  ? " 


THE    PASTOR    AND    HIS    PARISHIONER.       215 

"Even  so  !  "  she  answered.  "  In  such  life  as  has  been 
mine  these  seven  years  past !  And  thou,  Arthur  Dim- 
mesdale,  dost  thou  yet  live  ?  " 

It  was  no  wonder  that  they  thus  questioned  one 
another's  actual  and  bodily  existence,  and  even  doubted 
of  their  own.  So  strangely  did  they  meet,  in  the  dim 
wood,  that  it  was  like  the  first  encounter,  in  the  world 
beyond  the  grave,  of  two  spirits  who  had  been  intimately 
connected  in  their  former  life,  but  now  stood  coldly  shud 
dering,  in  mutual  dread ;  as  not  yet  familiar  with  their 
state,  nor  wonted  to  the  companionship  of  disembodied 
beings.  Each  a  ghost,  and  awe-stricken  at  the  other 
ghost !  They  were  awe-stricken  likewise  at  themselves  ; 
because  the  crisis  flung  back  to  them  their  consciousness, 
and  revealed  to  each  heart  its  history  and  experience,  as 
life  never  does,  except  at  such  breathless  epochs.  The 
soul  beheld  its  features  in  the  mirror  of  the  passing 
moment.  It  was  with  fear,  and  tremulously,  and,  as  it 
were,  by  a  slow,  reluctant  necessity,  that  Arthur  Dim- 
mesdale  put  forth  his  hand,  chill  as  death,  and  touched 
the  chill  hand  of  Hester  Prynne.  The  grasp,  cold  as 
it  was,  took  away  what  was  dreariest  in  the  interview. 
They  now  felt  themselves,  at  least,  inhabitants  of  the 
same  sphere. 

Without  a  word  more  spoken,  —  neither  he  nor  she 
assuming  the  guidance,  but  with  an  unexpressed  con 
sent,  —  they  glided  back  into  the  shadov*  of  the  woods, 
whence  Hester  had  emerged,  and  sat  down  on  the  heap 
of  moss  where  she  and  Pearl  had  before  been  sitting. 
When  they  found  voice  to  speak,  it  was,  at  first,  only 
to  utter  remarks  and  inquiries  such  as  any  two  acquaint 
ance  might  have  made,  about  the  gloomy  sky,  the 
threatening  storm,  and,  next,  the  health  of  each.  Thus 
they  went  onward,  not  boldly,  but  step  by  step,  into  the 


216          THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

theses  that  were  brooding  deepest  in  their  hearts.  So 
long  estranged  by  fate  and  circumstances,  they  needed 
something  slight  and  casual  to  run  before,  and  throw 
open  the  doors  of  intercourse,  so  that  their  real  thoughts 
might  be  led  across  the  threshold. 

After  a  while,  the  minister  fixed  his  eyes  on  Hester 
Pry  line's. 

"  Hester,"  said  he,  "  hast  thou  found  peace  ?  " 

She  smiled  drearily,  looking  down  upon  her  bosom. 

"  Hast  thou  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  None !  —  nothing  but  despair !  "  he  answered. 
"What  else  could  I  look  for,  being  what  I  am,  and 
leading  such  a  life  as  mine  ?  Were  I  an  atheist,  —  a 
man  devoid  of  conscience,  —  a  wretch  with  coarse  and 
brutal  instincts,  —  I  might  have  found  peace,  long  ere 
now.  Nay,  I  never  should  have  lost  it !  But,  as  mat 
ters  stand  with  my  soul,  whatever  of  good  capacity  there 
originally  was  in  me,  all  of  God's  gifts  that  were  the 
choicest  have  become  the  ministers  of  spiritual  torment. 
Hester,  I  am  most  miserable !  " 

"  The  people  reverence  thee,"  said  Hester.  "  And 
surely  thou  workest  good  among  them !  Doth  this 
bring  thee  no  comfort?" 

"  More  misery,  Hester !  —  only  the  more  misery  !  " 
answered  the  clergyman,  with  a  bitter  smile.  "  As  con 
cerns  the  good  which  I  may  appear  to  do,  I  have  no 
laith  in  it.  It  must  needs  be  a  delusion.  What  can  a 
ruined  soul,  like  mine,  effect  towards  the  redemption  of 
other  souls  ?  —  or  a  polluted  soul  towards  their  purifi 
cation  ?  And  as  for  the  people's  reverence,  would  that 
it  were  turned  to  scorn  and  hatred !  Canst  thou  deem 
it,  Hester,  a  consolation,  that  I  must  stand  up  in  my 
pulpit,  and  meet  so  many  eyes  turned  upward  to  my 
face,  as  if  the  light  of  heaven  were  beaming  from  it !  — 


THE    PASTOR   AND    HIS    PARISHIONER.       217 

must  see  my  flotk  hungry  for  the  truth,  and  listening  to 
my  words  as  if  a  tongue  of  Pentecost  were  speaking !  — 
and  then  look  inward,  and  discern  the  black  reality  of 
what  they  idolize?  I  have  laughed,  in  bitterness  and 
agony  of  heart,  at  the  contrast  between  what  I  seem 
and  what  I  am  !  And  Satan  laughs  at  it ! " 

"You  wrong  yourself  in  this,"  said  Hester,  gently. 
"  You  have  deeply  and  sorely  repented.  Your  sin  is  left 
behind  you,  in  the  days  long  past.  Your  present  life  is 
not  less  holy,  in  very  truth,  than  it  seems  in  people's 
eyes.  Is  there  no  reality  in  the  penitence  thus  sealed 
and  witnessed  by  good  works  ?  And  wherefore  should 
it  not  bring  you  peace  ?  " 

"  No,  Hester,  no !  "  replied  the  clergyman.  "  There 
is  no  substance  in  it !  It  is  cold  and  dead,  and  can  do 
nothing  for  me  !  Of  penance,  I  have  had  enough !  Of 
penitence,  there  has  been  none !  Else,  I  should  long 
ago  have  thrown  off  these  garments  of  mock  holiness, 
and  have  shown  myself  to  mankind  as  they  will  see  me 
at  the  judgment-seat.  Happy  are  you,  Hester,  that 
wear  the  scarlet  letter  openly  upon  your  bosom  !  Mine 
burns  in  secret !  Thou  little  knowest  what  a  relief  it 
is,  after  the  torment  of  a  seven  years'  cheat,  to  look  into 
an  eye  that  recognizes  me  for  what  I  am  !  Had  I  one 
friend,  —  or  were  it  my  worst  enemy  !  —  to  whom,  when 
sickened  with  the  praises  of  all  other  men,  I  could  daily 
betake  myself,  and  be  known  as  the  vilest  of  all  sinners, 
methinks  my  soul  might  keep  itself  alive  thereby.  Even 
thus  much  of  truth  would  save  me !  But,  now,  it  is  all 
falsehood  !  —  all  emptiness  !  —  all  death !  " 

Hester   Prynne   looked  into   his  face,  but  hesitated 

to   speak.     Yet,   uttering  his  long-restrained  emotions 

so  vehemently  as   he  did,  his  words  here  offered  her 

the  very  point  of  circumstances  in  which  to  interpose 

10 


218         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

what  she  came  to  say.  She  conquered  her  fears,  ana 
spoke. 

"  Such  a  friend  as  thou  hast  even  now  wished  for/' 
said  she,  "  with  whom  to  weep  over  thy  sin,  thou  hast 
in  me,  the  partner  of  it ! "  —  Again  she  hesitated,  but 
brought  out  the  words  with  an  effort.  —  "  Thou  hast 
long  had  such  an  enemy,  and  dwellest  with  him,  under 
the  same  roof! " 

The  minister  started  to  his  feet,  gasping  for  breath, 
aad  clutching  at  his  heart,  as  if  he  would  have  torn  it 
out  of  his  bosom. 

"  Ha  !  What  sayest  thou !  "  cried  he.  "  An  enemy ! 
And  under  mine  own  roof !  What  mean  you  ?  " 

Hester  Prynne  was  now  fully  sensible  of  the  deep  in 
jury  for  which  she  was  responsible  to  this  unhappy  man, 
in  permitting  him  to  he  for  so  many  years,  or,  indeed, 
for  a  single  moment,  at  the  mercy  of  one  whose  purposes 
could  not  be  other  than  malevolent.  The  very  conti 
guity  of  his  enemy,  beneath  whatever  mask  the  latter 
might  conceal  himself,  was  enough  to  disturb  the  mag 
netic  sphere  of  a  being  so  sensitive  as  Arthur  Dimmes- 
dale.  There  had  been  a  period  when  Hester  was  less 
alive  to  this  consideration ;  or,  perhaps,  in  the  misan 
thropy  of  her  own  trouble,  she  left  the  minister  to  bear 
what  she  might  picture  to  herself  as  a  more  tolerable 
doom.  But  of  late,  since  the  night  of  his  vigil,  all  her 
sympathies  towards  him  had  been  both  softened  and  in 
vigorated.  She  now  read  his  heart  more  accurately. 
She  doubted  not,  that  the  continual  presence  of  Roger 
Chillingworth,  —  the  secret  poison  of  his  malignity,  in 
fecting  all  the  air  about  him,  —  and  his  authorized  inter 
ference,  as  a  physician,  with  the  minister's  physical  and 
spiritual  infirmities,  —  that  these  bad  opportunities  had 
been  turned  to  a  cruel  purpose.  By  means  of  them,  the 


THE    PASTOR   AND    HIS    PARISHIONER.       219 

sufferer's  conscience  had  been  kept  in  an  irritated  state, 
the  tendency  of  which  was,  not  to  cure  by  wholesome 
pain,  but  to  disorganize  and  corrupt  his  spiritual  being. 
Its  result,  on  earth,  could  hardly  fail  to  be  insanity,  and 
hereafter,  that  eternal  alienation  from  the  Good  and  True, 
of  which  madness  is  perhaps  the  earthly  type. 

Such  was  the  ruin  to  which  she  had  brought  the  man, 
once,  —  nay,  why  should  we  not  speak  it  ?  —  still  so  pas 
sionately  loved !  Hester  felt  that  the  sacrifice  of  the 
clergyman's  good  name,  and  death  itself,  as  she  had 
already  told  Roger  Chillingworth,  would  have  been  infi 
nitely  preferable  to  the  alternative  which  she  had  taken 
upon  herself  to  choose.  And  now,  rather  than  have  had 
this  grievous  wrong  to  confess,  she  would  gladly  have 
lain  down  on  the  forest-leaves,  and  died  there,  at  Arthur 
Dimmesdale's  feet. 

"  0  Arthur,"  cried  she,  "  forgive  me !  In  all  things 
else,  I  have  striven  to  be  true  !  Truth  was  the  one 
virtue  which  I  might  have  held  fast,  and  did  hold  fast, 
through  all  extremity  ;  save  when  thy  good,  —  thy  life, 

—  thy  fame,  —  were  put  in  question  !     Then  I  consented 
to  a  deception.     But  a  lie  is  never  good,  even  though 
death  threaten  on  the  other  side !     Dost  thou  not  see 
what  I  would  say  ?     That  old  man !  —  the  physician  !  — 
he  whom  they  call  Roger  Chillingworth  !  —  he  was  my 
husband ! " 

The  minister  looked  at  her,  for  an  instant,  with  all 
that  violence  of  passion,  which  —  intermixed,  in  more 
shapes  than  one,  with  his  higher,  purer,  softer  qualities 

—  was,  in  fact,   the  portion  of  him  which  the   Devil 
claimed,  and  through  which  he  sought  to  win  the  rest. 
Never  was  there  a  blacker  or  a  fiercer  frown  than  Hes 
ter  now  encountered.     For  the  brief  space  that  it  lasted, 
it  was  a  dark  transfiguration.     But  his  character  had 


220  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

been  so  much  enfeebled  by  suffering,  that  even  its  lower 
energies  were  incapable  of  more  than  a  temporary  strug 
gle.  He  sank  down  on  the  ground,  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands. 

"  I  might  have  known  it,"  murmured  he.  ' '  I  did 
know  it !  Was  not  the  secret  told  me,  in  the  natural 
recoil  of  my  heart,  at  the  first  sight  of  him,  and  as  often 
as  I  have  seen  him  since  ?  Why  did  I  not  understand  ? 
O  Hester  Prynne,  thou  little,  little  knowest  all  the  hor 
ror  of  this  thing !  And  the  shame  !  —  the  indelicacy  ! 
—  the  horrible  ugliness  of  this  exposure  of  a  sick  and 
guilty  heart  to  the  very  eye  that  would  gloat  over  it ! 
Woman,  woman,  thou  art  accountable  for  this  !  I  can 
not  forgive  thee ! " 

"  Thou  shalt  forgive  me  !  "  cried  Hester,  flinging  her 
self  on  the  fallen  leaves  beside  him.  "  Let  God  punish  ! 
Thou  shalt  forgive !  " 

With  sudden  and  desperate  tenderness,  she  threw  her 
arms  around  him,  and  pressed  his  head  against  her  bosom ; 
little  caring  though  his  cheek  rested  on  the  scarlet  letter. 
He  would  have  released  himself,  but  strove  in  vain  to  do 
so.  Hester  would  not  set  him  free,  lest  he  should  look 
her  sternly  in  the  face.  All  the  world  had  frowned  on 
her,  —  for  seven  long  years  had  it  frowned  upon  this 
lonely  woman,  —  and  still  she  bore  it  all,  nor  ever  once 
turned  away  her  firm,  sad  eyes.  Heaven,  likewise,  had] 
frowned  upon  her,  and  she  had  not  died.  But  the  frown 
of  this  pale,  weak,  sinful,  and  sorrow-stricken  man  was 
what  Hester  could  not  bear  and  live  ! 

"  Wilt  thou  yet  forgive  me  !  "  she  repeated,  over  and 
over  again.  "Wilt  thou  not  frown?  "Wilt  thou  for 
give  ?  " 

"I  do  forgive  you,  Hester,"  replied  the  minister,  at 
length,  with  a  deep  utterance,  out  of  an  abyss  of  sadness, 


THE    PASTOR   AND    HIS    PARISHIONER.       221 

but  no  anger.  "  I  freely  forgive  you  now.  May  God 
forgive  us  both  !  We  are  not,  Hester,  the  worst  sinners 
in  the  world.  There  is  one  worse  than  even  the  polluted 
priest !  That  old  man's  revenge  has  been  blacker  than 
my  sin.  He  has  violated,  in  cold  blood,  the  sanctity  oi 
a  human  heart.  Thou  and  I,  Hester,  never  did  so  !  " 

"  Never,  never !  "  whispered  she.  "  What  we  did  had 
a  consecration  of  its  own.  We  felt  it  so  !  We  said  so 
to  each  other  !  Hast  thou  forgotten  it  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Hester !  "  said  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  rising 
from  the  ground.  "  No  ;  I  have  not  forgotten  !  " 

They  sat  down  again,  side  by  side,  and  hand  clasped 
in  hand,  on  the  mossy  trunk  of  the  fallen  tree.  Life  had 
never  brought  them  a  gloomier  hour ;  it  was  the  point 
whither  their  pathway  had  so  long  been  tending,  and 
darkening  ever,  as  it  stole  along  ;  —  and  yet  it  enclosed 
a  charm  that  made  them  linger  upon  it,  and  claim  an 
other,  and  another,  and,  after  all,  another  moment.  The 
forest  was  obscure  around  them,  and  creaked  with  a 
blast  that  was  passing  through  it.  The  boughs  were 
tossing  heavily  above  their  heads ;  while  one  solemn  old 
tree  groaned  dolefully  to  another,  as  if  telling  the  sad 
story  of  the  pair  that  sat  beneafh,  or  constrained  to  fore 
bode  evil  to  come. 

And  yet  they  lingered.  How  dreary  looked  the  foresfe- 
track  that  led  backward  to  the  settlement,  where  Hester 
Prynne  must  take  up  again  the  burden  of  her  ignominy, 
and  the  minister  the  hollow  mockery  of  his  good  name  ! 
So  they  lingered  an  instant  longer.  No  golden  light  had 
ever  been  so  precious  as  the  gloom  of  this  dark  forest. 
Here,  seen  only  by  his  eyes,  the  scarlet  letter  need  not 
burn  into  the  bosom  of  the  fallen  woman  !  Here,  seen 
only  by  her  eyes,  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  false  to  God  and 
?nan,  might  be,  for  one  moment,  true ! 


222         THE  SCAELET  LETTEK. 

He  started  at  a  thought  that  suddenly  occurred  to  him 

"Hester,"  cried  he,  "here  is  a  new  horror!  Rogei 
Ohillingworth  knows  your  purpose  to  reveal  his  true 
character.  Will  he  continue,  then,  to  keep  our  secret  P 
What  will  now  be  the  course  of  his  revenge  ?  " 

"There  is  a  strange  secrecy  in  his  nature,"  replied 
Hester,  thoughtfully ;  "  and  it  has  grown  upon  him  by 
the  hidden  practices  of  his  revenge.  I  deem  it  not  likely 
that  he  will  betray  the  secret.  He  will  doubtless  seek 
other  means  of  satiating  his  dark  passion." 

"And  I! — how  am  I  to  live  longer,  breathing  the 
same  air  with  this  deadly  enemy  ?  "  exclaimed  Arthur 
Dimmesdale,  shrinking  within  himself,  and  pressing  his 
hand  nervously  against  his  heart,  —  a  gesture  that  had 
grown  involuntary  with  him.  "  Think  for  me,  Hester ! 
Thou  art  strong.  Resolve  for  me  !  " 

"Thou  must  dwell  no  longer  with  this  man,"  said 
Hester,  slowly  and  firmly.  "Thy  heart  must  be  no 
longer  under  his  evil  eye ! " 

"  It  were  far  worse  than  death  !  "  replied  the  minister. 
"  But  how  to  avoid  it  ?  What  choice  remains  to  me  ? 
Shall  I  lie  down  again  on  these  withered  leaves,  where 
I  cast  myself  when  thou  didst  tell  me  what  he  was  P 
Must  I  sink  down  there,  and  die  at  once  ? " 

"  Alas,  what  a  ruin  has  befallen  thee  !  "  said  Hester, 
with  the  tears  gushing  into  her  eyes.  "  Wilt  thou  die 
for  very  weakness  ?  There  is  no  other  cause  !  " 

"  The  judgment  of  God  is  on  me,"  answered  the  con 
science-stricken  priest.  "  It  is  too  mighty  for  me  to 
struggle  with ! " 

"  Heaven  .would  show  mercy,"  rejoined  Hester,  "  hadst 
thou  but  the  strength  to  take  advantage  of  it." 

"  Be  thou  strong  for  me  !  "  answered  he.  "  Advise 
me  what  to  do." 


THE    PASTOR    AND    HIS    PARISHIONER.      223 

"  Is  the  world,  then,  so  narrow  ?  "  exclaimed  Hester 
Prynne,  fixing  her  deep  eyes  on  the  minister's,  and  in 
stinctively  exercising  a  magnetic  power  over  a  spirit  so 
shattered  and  subdued  that  it  could  hardly  hold  itself 
erect.  "Doth  the  universe  lie  within  the  compass  of 
yonder  town,  which  only  a  little  time  ago  was  but  a  leaf- 
strewn  desert,  as  lonely  as  this  around  us  ?  Whither 
leads  yonder  forest-track  ?  Backward  to  the  settlement, 
thou  sayest !  Yes ;  but  onward,  too.  Deeper  it  goes,  and 
deeper,  into  the  wilderness,  less  plainly  to  be  seen  at 
every  step ;  until,  some  few  miles  hence,  the  yellow  leaves 
will  show  no  vestige  of  the  white  man's  tread.  There 
thou  art  free  !  So  brief  a  journey  would  bring  thee  from 
a  world  where  thou  hast  been  most  wretched,  to  one 
where  thou  mayest  still  be  happy !  Is  there  not  shade 
enough  in  all  this  boundless  forest  to  hide  thy  heart  from 
the  gaze  of  Roger  Chillingworth  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Hester ;  but  only  under  the  fallen  leaves  ! "  re 
plied  the  minister,  with  a  sad  smile. 

"  Then  there  is  the  broad  pathway  of  the  sea !  "  con 
tinued  Hester.  "It  brought  thee  hitner.  If  thou  so 
choose,  it  will  bear  thee  back  again.  In  our  native  land, 
whether  in  some  remote  rural  village  or  in  vast  London, 

—  or,  surely,  in  Germany,  in  France,  in  pleasant  Italy, 

—  thou  wouldst  be  beyond  his  power  and  knowledge ! 
And  what  hast  thou  to  do  with  all  these  iron  men,  and 
their  opinions  ?     They  have  kept  thy  better  part  in  bond 
age  too  long  already !  " 

"  It  cannot  be  !  "  answered  the  minister,  listening  as 
if  he  were  called  upon  to  realize  a  dream.  "  I  am  power 
less  to  go !  Wretched  and  sinful  as  I  am,  I  have  had 
HO  other  thought  than  to  drag  on  my  earthly  existence 
in  the  sphere  where  Providence  hath  placed  me.  Lost 
as  my  own  soul  is,  I  would  still  do  what  I  may  for  other 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

human  souls!  I  dare  not  quit  my  post,  though  an 
unfaithful  sentinel,  whose  sure  reward  is  death  and  dis 
honor,  when  his  dreary  watch  shall  come  to  an  end ! " 

"  Thou  art  crushed  under  this  seven  years'  weight  of 
misery,"  replied  Hester,  fervently  resolved  to  buoy  him 
up  with  her  own  energy.  "  But  thou  shalt  leave  it  all 
behind  thee !  It  shall  not  cumber  thy  steps,  as  thou 
treadest  along  the  forest-path ;  neither  shalt  thou  freight 
the  ship  with  it,  if  thou  prefer  to  cross  the  sea.  Leav* 
this  wreck  and  ruin  here  where  it  hath  happened.  Mea- 
dle  no  more  with  it !  Begin  all  anew !  Hast  thou  ex 
hausted  possibility  in  the  failure  of  this  one  trial  ?  Not 
so !  The  future  is  yet  full  of  trial  and  success.  There 
is  happiness  to  be  enjoyed !  There  is  good  to  be  done  ! 
Exchange  this  false  life  of  thine  for  a  true  one.  Be,  if 
thy  spirit  summon  thee  to  such  a  mission,  the  teacher 
and  apostle  of  the  red  men.  Or,  —  as  is  more  thy 
nature,  —  be  a  scholar  and  a  sage  among  the  wisest  and 
the  most  renowned  of  the  cultivated  world.  Preach  ! 
Write  !  Act !  Do  anything,  save  to  lie  down  and  die ! 
Give  up  this  name  of  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  and  make 
thyself  another,  and  a  high  one,  such  as  thou  canst 
wear  without  fear  or  shame.  Why  shouldst  thou  tarry 
so  much  as  one  other  day  in  the  torments  that  have  so 
gnawed  into  thy  life !  —  that  have  made  thee  feeble  to 
will  and  to  do !  —  that  will  leave  thee  powerless  eveu 
to  repent !  Up,  and  away !  " 

"  O  Hester !  "  cried  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  in  whost 
eyes  a  fitful  light,  kindled  by  her  enthusiasm,  flashed  up 
and  died  away,  "  thou  tellest  of  running  a  race  to  a  man 
vrhose  knees  are  tottering  beneath  him!  I  must  die 
here !  There  is  not  the  strength  or  courage  left  me  to 
Tenture  into  the  wide,  strange,  difficult  world,  alone !  " 

It  was  the  last  expression  of  the  despondency   of  a 


THE    PASTOR   AND    HIS    PARISHIONER. 

oroken  spirit.  He  lacked  energy  to  grasp  the  better  for 
tune  that  seemed  within  his  reach. 

He  repeated  the  word. 

"Alone,  Hester!" 

"  Thou  shalt  not  go  alone !  "  answered  she,  in  a  deep 
•'  hisper. 

Then,  all  was  spoken  ! 


XVIII. 
A  FLOOD  OF  SUNSHINE. 

|RTHUR  DIMMESDALE  gazed  into  Hester's 
face  with  a  look  in  which  hope  and  joy  shone 
out,  indeed,  but  with  fear  betwixt  them,  and  a 
kind  of  horror  at  her  boldness,  who  had  spoken  what  he 
vaguely  hinted  at,  but  dared  not  speak. 

But  Hester  Prynne,  with  a  mind  of  native  courage  and 
activity,  and  for  so  long  a  period  not  merely  estranged, 
but  outlawed,  from  society,  had  habituated  herself  to  such 
latitude  of  speculation  as  was  altogether  foreign  to  the 
clergyman.  She  had  wandered,  without  rule  or  guid 
ance,  in  a  moral  wilderness;  as  vast,  as  intricate  and 
shadowy,  as  the  untamed  forest,  amid  the  gloom  of  which 
they  were  now  holding  a  colloquy  that  was  to  decide  their 
fate.  Her  intellect  and  heart  had  their  home,  as  it  were, 
in  desert  places,  where  she  roamed  as  freely  as  the  wild 
Indian  in  his  woods.  For  years  past  she  had  looked  from 
this  estranged  point  of  view  at  human  institutions,  and 
whatever  priests  or  legislators  had  established  ;  criticising 
all  with  hardly  more  reverence  than  the  Indian  would  feel 
for  the  clerical  band,  the  judicial  robe,  the  pillory,  the 
gallows,  the  fireside,  or  the  church.  The  tendency  of 
her  fate  and  fortunes  had  been  to  set  her  free.  The 


A    FLOO^   OF    SUNSHINE.  227 

scarlet  letter  was  her  passport  into  regions  where  other 
women  dared  not  tread.  Shame,  Despair,  Solitude  J 
These  had  been  her  teachers,  —  stern  and  wild  ones,  — 
and  they  had  made  her  strong,  but  taught  her  much 
amiss. 

The  minister,  on  the  other  hand,  had  never  gone 
through  an  experience  calculated  to  lead  him  beyond  the 
scope  of  generally  received  laws;  although,  in  a  single 
instance,  he  had  so  fearfully  transgressed  one  of  the  most 
sacred  of  them.  But  this  had  been  a  sin  of  passion,  not 
of  principle,  nor  even  purpose.  Since  that  wretched 
epoch,  he  had  watched,  with  morbid  zeal  and  minuteness, 
not  his  acts,  —  for  those  it  was  easy  to  arrange,  —  but 
each  breath  of  emotion,  and  his  every  thought.  At 
the  head  of  the  social  system,  as  the  clergymen  of  that 
day  stood,  he  was  only  the  more  trammelled  by  its  regu 
lations,  its  principles,  and  even  its  prejudices.  As  a 
priest,  the  framework  of  his  order  inevitably  hemmed 
him  in.  As  a  man  who  had  once  sinned,  but  who  kept 
his  conscience  all  alive  and  painfully  sensitive  by  the 
fretting  of  an  unhealed  wound,  lie  might  have  been  sup 
posed  safer  within  the  line  of  virtue  than  if  he  had  never 
sinned  at  all. 

Thus,  we  seem  to  see  that,  as  regarded  Hester  Prynne, 
the  whole  seven  years  of  outlaw  and  ignominy  had  been 
little  other  than  a  preparation  for  this  very  hour.  But 
Arthur  Dimmesdale !  Were  such  a  man  once  more  to 
fall,  what  plea  could  be  urged  in  extenuation  of  his  crime  ? 
None ;  unless  it  avail  him  somewhat,  that  he  was  broken 
down  by  long  and  exquisite  suffering ;  that  his  mind  was 
darkened  and  confused  by  the  very  remorse  which  har 
rowed  it;  that,  between  fleeing  as  an  avowed  criminal, 
and  remaining  as  a  hypocrite,  conscience  might  find  it 
hard  to  strike  the  balance ;  that  it  was  human  to  avoid 


228         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

the  peril  of  death  and  infamy,  and  the  inscrutable  machi 
nations  of  an  enemy ;  that,  finally,  to  this  poor  pilgrim, 
on  his  dreary  and  desert  path,  faint,  sick,  miserable,  there 
appeared  a  glimpse  of  human  affection  and  sympathy,  a 
new  life,  and  a  true  one,  in  exchange  for  the  heavy  doom 
which  he  was  now  expiating.  And  be  the  stern  and  sad 
truth  spoken,  that  the  breach  which  guilt  has  once  made 
into  the  human  soul  is  never,  in  this  mortal  state,  re 
paired.  It  may  be  watched  and  guarded;  so  that  the 
enemy  shall  not  force  his  way  again  into  the  citadel,  and 
might  even,  in  his  subsequent  assaults,  select  some  other 
avenue,  in  preference  to  that  where  he  had  formerly  suc 
ceeded.  But  there  is  still  the  ruined  wall,  and,  near  it, 
the  stealthy  tread  of  the  foe  that  would  win  over  again 
his  unforgotten  triumph. 

The  struggle,  if  there  were  one,  need  not  be  described. 
Let  it  suffice,  that  the  clergyman  resolved  to  flee,  and 
not  alone. 

"If,  in  all  these  past  seven  years,"  thought  he,  "I 
could  recall  one  instant  of  peace  or  hope,  I  would  yet 
endure,  for  the  sake  of  that  earnest  of  Heaven's  mercy. 
But  now,  —  since  I  am  irrevocably  doomed,  —  wherefore 
should  I  not  snatch  the  solace  allowed  to  the  condemned 
culprit  before  his  execution  ?  Or,  if  this  be  the  path  to 
a  better  life,  as  Hester  would  persuade  me,  I  surely  give 
up  no  fairer  prospect  by  pursuing  it !  Neither  can  I 
any  longer  live  without  her  companionship  ;  so  powerful 
is  she  to  sustain,  —  so  tender  to  soothe  !  O  Thou  to 
whom  I  dare  not  lift  mine  eyes,  wilt  Thou  yet  pardon 
me!" 

"  Thou  wilt  go  !  "  said  Hester,  calmly,  as  he  met  her 
glance. 

The  decision  once  made,  a  glow  of  strange  enjoyment 
threw  its  flickering  brightness  over  the  trouble  of  his 


A    FLOOD    OF    SUNSHINE. 

oreast.  It  was  the  exhilarating  effect  —  upon  a  prisoner 
just  escaped  from  the  dungeon  of  his  own  heart  —  of 
breathing  the  wild,  free  atmosphere  of  an  unredeemedj 
unchristianized,  lawless  region.  His  spirit  rose,  as  it 
were,  with  a  bound,  and  attained  a  nearer  prospect  of 
the  sky,  than  throughout  all  the  misery  which  had  kept 
him  grovelling  on  the  earth.  Of  a  deeply  religious 
temperament,  there  was  inevitably  a  tinge  of  the  devo 
tional  in  his  mood. 

"  Do  I  feel  joy  again  ?  "  cried  he,  wondering  at  him 
self.  "  Methought  the  germ  of  it  was  dead  in  me  !  0 
Hester,  thou  art  my  better  angel !  I  seem  to  have  flung 
myself —  sick,  sin-stained,  and  sorrow-blackened  —  down 
upon  these  forest-leaves,  and  to  have  risen  up  all  made 
anew,  and  with  new  powers  to  glorify  Him  that  hath  been 
merciful !  This  is  already  the  better  life  !  Why  did  we 
not  find  it  sooner  ?  " 

"  Let  us  not  look  back,"  answered  Hester  Prynne. 
"  The  past  is  gone  !  Wherefore  should  we  linger  upon 
it  now  ?  See !  With  this  symbol,  I  undo  it  all,  and 
make  it  as  it  had  never  been !  " 

So  speaking,  she  undid  the  clasp  that  fastened  the  scar 
let  letter,  and,  taking  it  from  her  bosom,  threw  it  to  a  dis 
tance  among  the  withered  leaves.  The  mystic  token 
alighted  on  the  hither  verge  of  the  stream.  With  a 
hand's  breadth  farther  flight  it  would  have  fallen  into  the 
water,  and  have  given  the  little  brook  another  woe  to 
carry  onward,  besides  the  unintelligible  tale  which  it  still 
kept  murmuring  about.  But  there  lay  the  embroidered 
letter,  glittering  like  a  lost  jewel,  which  some  ill-fated 
wanderer  might  pick  up,  and  thenceforth  be  haunted  by 
strange  phantoms  of  guilt,  sinkings  of  the  heart,  and 
unaccountable  misfortune. 

The  stigma  gone,  Hester  heaved  a  long,  deep  sigh,  in 


230  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

which  the  burden  of  shame  and  anguish  departed  from 
her  spirit.  0  exquisite  relief !  She  had  not  known  the 
weight,  until  she  felt  the  freedom  !  By  another  impulse, 
she  took  off  the  formal  cap  that  confined  her  hair ;  and 
down  it  fell  upon  her  shoulders,  dark  and  rich,  with  at 
once  a  shadow  and  a  light  in  its  abundance,  and  impart 
ing  the  charm  of  softness  to  her  features.  There  played 
around  her  mouth,  and  beamed  out  of  her  eyes,  a  radiant 
and  tender  smile,  that  seemed  gushing  from  the  very 
heart  of  womanhood.  A  crimson  flush  was  glowing  on 
her  cheek,  that  had  been  long  so  pale.  Her  sex,  her 
youth,  and  the  whole  richness  of  her  beauty,  came  back 
from  what  men  call  the  irrevocable  past,  and  clustered 
themselves,  with  her  maiden  hope,  and  a  happiness  before 
unknown,  within  the  magic  circle  of  this  hour.  And,  as 
if  the  gloom  of  the  earth  and  sky  had  been  but  the 
effluence  of  these  two  mortal  hearts,  it  vanished  with 
their  sorrow.  All  at  once,  as  with  a  sudden  smile  of 
heaven,  forth  burst  the  sunshine,  pouring  a  very  flood 
into  the  obscure  forest,  gladdening  each  green  leaf, 
transmuting  the  yellow  fallen  ones  to  gold,  and  gleam 
ing  adown  the  gray  trunks  of  the  solemn  trees.  The 
objects  that  had  made  a  shadow  hitherto,  embodied 
the  brightness  now.  The  course  of  the  little  brook 
might  be  traced  by  its  merry  gleam  afar  into  the 
wood's  heart  of  mystery,  which  had  become  a  mystery 
of  joy. 

Such  was  the  sympathy  of  Nature — that  wild,  heathen 
Nature  of  the  forest,  never  subjugated  by  human  law, 
nor  illumined  by  higher  truth — with  the  bliss  of  these  two 
spirits  !  Love,  whether  newly  born,  or  aroused  from  a 
death-like  slumber,  must  always  create  a  sunshine,  filling 
the  heart  so  full  of  radiance,  that  it  overflows  upon  the 
outward  world.  Had  the  forest  still  kept  its  gloom,  it 


A    FLOOD    OF    SUNSHINE.  231 

wo  aid  have  been  bright  in  Hester's  eyes,  and  bright  in 
Arthur  Dimmesdale's ! 

Hester  looked  at  him  with  the  thrill  of  another  joy. 

"  Thou  must  know  Pearl !  "  said  she.  "  Our  little 
Pearl !  Thou  hast  seen  her,  —  yes,  I  know  it !  —  but 
thou  wilt  see  her  now  with  other  eyes.  She  is  a  strange 
child  !  I  hardly  comprehend  her !  But  thou  wilt  love 
her  dearly,  as  I  do,  and  wilt  advise  me  how  to  deal  with 
her." 

"  Dost  thou  think  the  child  will  be  glad  to  know  me  ?  " 
asked  the  minister,  somewhat  uneasily.  "I  have  long 
shrunk  from  children,  because  they  often  show  a  distrust, 
—  a  backwardness  to  be  familiar  with  me.  I  have  even 
been  afraid  of  little  Pearl !  " 

"Ah,  that  was  sad!"  answered  the  mother.  "But 
she  will  love  thee  dearly,  and  thou  her.  She  is  not  fai 
off.  I  will  call  her !  Pearl!  Pearl!" 

"  I  see  the  child,"  observed  the  minister.  "Yonder  she 
is,  standing  in  a  streak  of  sunshine,  a  good  way  off,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  brook.  So  thou  thinkest  the  child  will 
love  me  ? " 

Hester  smiled,  and  again  called  to  Pearl,  who  was 
visible,  at  some  distance,  as  the  minister  had  described 
her,  like  a  bright-apparelled  vision,  in  a  sunbeam,  whicl 
fell  down  upon  her  through  an  arch  of  boughs.  The  ra_? 
quivered  to  and  fro,  making  her  figure  dim  or  distinct,  — 
now  like  a  real  child,  now  like  a  child's  spirit,  —  as  the 
splendor  went  and  came  again.  She  heard  her  mother's 
voice,  and  approached  slowly  through  the  forest. 

Pearl  had  not  found  the  hour  pass  wearisomely,  while 
her  mother  sat  talking  with  the  clergyman.  The  great 
black  forest  —  stern  as  it  showed  itself  to  those  who 
brought  the  guilt  and  troubles  of  the  world  into  its 
bosom  —  became  the  playmate  of  the  lonely  infant,  a*. 


THE    SCAHLET    LETTER. 

well  as  it  knew  how.  Sombre  as  it  was,  it  put  on  the 
kindest  of  its  moods  to  welcome  her.  It  offered  her  th 
partridge-berries,  the  growth  of  the  preceding  autumn 
but  ripening  only  in  the  spring,  and  now  red  as  drop 
of  blood  upon  the  withered  leaves.  These  Pearl  gath 
ered,  and  was  pleased  with  their  wild  flavor.  The  smal] 
denizens  of  the  wilderness  hardly  took  pains  to  move  ou1 
of  her  path.  A  partridge,  indeed,  with  a  brood  of  ten 
behind  her,,  ran  forward  threateningly,  but  soon  repented 
of  her  fierceness,  and  clucked  to  her  young  ones  not  to 
be  afraid.  A  pigeon,  alone  on  a, low  branch,  allowed 
Pearl  to  come  beneath,  and  uttered  a  sound  as  much 
of  greeting  as  alarm.  A  squirrel,  from  the  lofty  depths 
of  his  domestic  tree,  chattered  either  in  anger  or  merri 
ment,  —  for  a  squirrel  is  such  a  choleric  and  humorous 
little  personage,  that  it  is  hard  to  distinguish  between  his 
moods,  —  so  he  chattered  at  the  child,  and  flung  down  a 
nut  upon  her  head.  It  was  a  last  year's  nut,  and  already 
gnawed  by  his  sharp  tooth.  A  fox,  startled  from  his 
sleep  by  her  light  footstep  on  the  leaves,  looked  inquisi 
tively  at  Pearl,  as  doubting  whether  it  were  better  to 
steal  off,  or  renew  his  nap  on  the  same  spot.  A  wolf, 
it  is  said,  —  but  here  the  .tale  has  surely  lapsed  into  the 
improbable,  —  came  up,  and  smelt  of  Pearl's  robe,  and 
offered  his  savage  head  to  be  patted  by  her  hand.  The 
truth  seems  to  be,  however,  that  the  mother-forest,  and 
these  wild  things  which  it  nourished,  all  recognized  a 
kindred  wildness  in  the  human  child. 

And  she  was  gentler  here  than  in  the  grassy -margined 
streets  of  the  settlement,  or  in  her  mother's  cottage. 
The  flowers  appeared  to  know  it ;  and  one  and  another 
whispered  as  she  passed,  "  Adorn  thyself  with  me,  thou 
beautiful  child,  adorn  thyself  with  me  ! "  —  and,  to  please 
them,  Pearl  gathered  the  violets,  and  anemones,  and  col- 


A    FLOOD    OF    SUNSHINE.  233 

umbines,  and  some  twigs  of  the  freshest  green,  which 
the  old  trees  held  down  before  her  eyes.  With  these 
she  decorated  her  hair,  and  her  young  waist,  and  became 
a  nymph-child,  or  an  infant  dryad,  or  whatever  else  was 
in  closest  sympathy  with  the  antique  wood.  In  such 
guise  had  Pearl  adorned  herself,  when  she  heard  her 
mother's  voice,  and  came  slowly  back. 
Slowly ;  for  she  saw  the  clergyman. 


XIX. 
!PHE  CHILD  AT  THE  BROOK-SIDE. 

|HOU  wilt  love  her  dearly,"  repeated  Hester 
Prynne,  as  she  and  the  minister  sat  watching 
little  Pearl.  "  Dost  thou  not  think  her  beauti 
ful  ?  And  see  with  what  natural  skill  she  has  made  those 
simple  flowers  adorn  her  !  Had  she  gathered  pearls,  and 
diamonds,  and  rubies,  in  the  wood,  they  could  not  have 
become  her  better.  She  is  a  splendid  child !  But  I  know 
whose  brow  she  has  I  " 

"  Dost  thou  know,  Hester/5  said  Arthur  Dimmesdale, 
with  an  unquiet  smile,  "that  this  dear  child,  tripping 
about  always  at  thy  side,  hath  caused  me  many  an  alarm  ? 
Methought  —  0  Hester,  what  a  tiiought  is  that,  and  how 
terrible  to  dread  it !  —  that  my  own  features  were  partly 
repeated  in  her  face,  and  so  strikingly  that  the  world 
might  see  them !  But  she  is  mostly  thine ! " 

"  No,  no  !  Not  mostly !  "  answered  the  mother,  with 
a  tender  smile.  "  A  little  longer,  and  thou  needest  not  to 
be  afraid  to  trace  whose  child  she  is.  But  how  strangely 
beautiful  she  looks,  with  those  wild-flowers  in  her  hair  ! 
It  is  as  if  one  of  the  fairies,  whom  we  left  in  our  dear 
old  England,  had  decked  her  out  to  meet  us." 

It  was  with  a  feeling  which  neither  of  them  had  ever 
before  experienced,  that  they  sat  and  watched  Pearl* t 


THE    CHILD   AT    THE    BUOOK-SIDE.          235 

slow  advance.  In  her  was  visible  the  tie  that  united 
them.  She  had  been  offered  to  the  world,  these  seven 
years  past,  as  the  living  hieroglyphic,  in  which  was  re 
vealed  the  secret  they  so  darkly  sought  to  hide, — all 
written  in  this  symbol,  —  all  plainly  manifest,  —  had 
there  been  a  prophet  or  magician  skilled  to  read  the 
character  of  flame  !  And  Pearl  was  the  oneness  of  their 
being.  Be  the  foregone  evil  what  it  might,  how  could 
they  doubt  that  their  earthly  lives  and  future  destinies 
were  conjoined,  when  they  beheld  at  once  the  material 
union,  and  the  spiritual  idea,  in  whom  they  met,  and 
were  to  dwell  immortally  together?  Thoughts  like 
these  —  and  perhaps  other  thoughts,  which  they  did  not 
acknowledge  or  define  —  threw  an  awe  about  the  child, 
as  she  came  onward. 

"  Let  her  see  nothing  strange  —  no  passion  nor  eager 
ness —  in  thy  way  of  accosting  her/'  whispered  Hester. 
"  Our  Pearl  is  a  fitful  and  fantastic  little  elf,  sometimes. 
Especially,  she  is  seldom  tolerant  of  emotion,  when  she 
does  not  fully  comprehend  the  why  and  wherefore.  But 
the  child  hath  strong  affections  !  She  loves  me,  and  will 
love  thee ! " 

"Thou  canst  not  think,"  said  the  minister,  glancing 
aside  at  Hester  Prynne,  "  how  my  heart  dreads  this  in 
terview,  and  yearns  for  it !  But,  in  truth,  as  I  already 
told  thee,  children  are  not  readily  won  to  be  familiar 
with  me.  They  will  not  climb  my  knee,  nor  prattle  in 
my  ear,  nor  answer  to  my  smile ;  but  stand  apart,  and 
eye  me  strangely.  Even  little  babes,  when  I  take  them 
in  my  arms,  weep  bitterly.  Yet  Pearl,  twice  in  her 
little  lifetime,  hath  been  kind  to  me  !  The  first  time,  — 
thou  knowest  it  well!  The  last  was  when  thou  ledst 
her  with  thee  to  the  house  of  yonder  stern  old  Gov 
ernor." 


236         THE  SCAELET  LETTER. 

"  Aiid  thou  didst  plead  so  bravely  in  her  behalf  and 
mine  !  "  answered  the  mother.  "  I  remember  it ;  and  so 
shall  little  Pearl.  Pear  nothing !  She  may  be  strange 
and  shy  at  first,  but  will  soon  learn  to  love  thee !  " 

By  this  time  Pearl  had  reached  the  margin  of  the 
brook,  and  stood  on  the  farther  side,  gazing  silently  at 
Hester  and  the  clergyman,  who  still  sat  together  on  the 
mossy  tree-trunk,  waiting  to  receive  her.  Just  where 
she  had  paused,  the  brook  chanced  to  form  a  pool,  so 
smooth  and  quiet  that  it  reflected  a  perfect  image  of  her 
little  figure,  with  all  the  brilliant  picturesqueness  of  her 
beauty,  in  its  adornment  of  flowers  and  wreathed  foliage, 
but  more  refined  and  spiritualized  than  the  reality.  This 
image,  so  nearly  identical  with  the  living  Pearl,  seemed 
to  communicate  somewhat  of  its  own  shadowy  and  intan 
gible  quality  to  the  child  herself.  It  was  strange,  the 
way  in  which  Pearl  stood,  looking  so  steadfastly  at  them 
through  the  dim  medium  of  the  forest-gloom;  herself, 
meanwhile,  all  glorified  with  a  ray  of  sunshine,  that  was 
attracted  thitherward  as  by  a  certain  sympathy.  In  the 
brook  beneath  stood  another  child,  —  another  and  the 
same,  —  with  likewise  its  ray  of  golden  light.  Hester 
felt  herself,  in  some  indistinct  and  tantalizing  manner, 
estranged  from  Pearl ;  as  if  the  child,  in  her  lonely  ram 
ble  through  the  forest,  had  strayed  out  of  the  sphere  in 
which  she  and  her  mother  dwelt  together,  and  was  now 
vainly  seeking  to  return  to  it. 

There  was  both  truth  and  error  in  the  impression ;  the 
child  and  mother  were  estranged,  but  through  Hester's 
fault,  not  Pearl's.  Since  the  latter  rambled  from  her 
side,  another  inmate  had  been  admitted  within  the  circle 
of  the  mother's  feelings,  and  so  modified  the  aspect  of 
them  all,  that  Pearl,  the  returning  wanderer,  could  not 
rind  her  wonted  place,  and  hardly  knew  where  she  was. 


THE    CHILD    AT   THE    BROOK-SIDE.          237 

"  I  have  a  strange  fancy,"  observed  the  sensitive  min 
ister,  "that  this  brook  is  the  boundary  between  two 
worlds,  and  that  thou  canst  never  meet  thy  Pearl  again. 
Or  is  she  an  elfish  spirit,  who,  as  the  legends  of  our  child 
hood  taught  us,  is  forbidden  to  cross  a  running  stream  P 
Pray  hasten  her;  for  this  delay  has  already  imparted  a 
tremor  to  my  nerves." 

"  Come,  dearest  child ! "  said  Hester,  encouragingly, 
and  stretching  out  both  her  arms.  "How  slow  thou 
art !  When  hast  thou  been  so  sluggish  before  now  ? 
Here  is  a  friend  of  mine,  who  must  be  thy  friend  also. 
Thou  wilt  have  twice  as  much  love,  henceforward,  as 
thy  mother  alone  could  give  thee !  Leap  across  the 
brook,  and  come  to  us.  Thou  canst  leap  like  a  young 
deer ! " 

Pearl,  without  responding  in  any  manner  to  these 
honey- sweet  expressions,  remained  on  the  other  side  of 
the  brook.  Now  she  fixed  her  bright,  wild  eyes  on  her 
mother,  now  on  the  minister,  and  now  included  them  both 
in  the  same  glance ;  as  if  to  detect  and  explain  to  herself 
the  relation  which  they  bore  to  one  another.  For  some 
unaccountable  reason,  as  Arthur  Dimmesdale  felt  the 
child's  eyes  upon  himself,  his  hand  —  with  that  gesture 
so  habitual  as  to  have  become  involuntary  —  stole  over 
his  heart.  At  length,  assuming  a  singular  air  of  author 
ity,  Pearl  stretched  out  her  hand,  with  the  small  fore 
finger  extended,  and  pointing  evidently  towards  her 
mother's  breast.  And  beneath,  in  the  mirror  of  the 
brook,  there  was  the  flower-girdled  and  sunny  image  of 
little  Pearl,  pointing  her  small  forefinger  too. 

"Thou  strange  child,  why  dost  thou  not  come  to 
me  ?  "  exclaimed  Hester. 

Pearl  still  pointed  with  her  forefinger ;  and  a  frown 
gathered  on  her  brow ;  the  more  impressive  from  the 


238  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

cLildish,  the  almost  baby -like  aspect  of  the  features  that 
conveyed  it.  As  her  mother  still  kept  beckoning  to  her, 
and  arraying  her  face  in  a  holiday  suit  of  unaccustomed 
smiles,  t  he  child  stamped  her  foot  with  a  yet  more  impe 
rious  look  and  gesture.  In  the  brook,  again,  was  the 
fantastic  beauty  of  the  image,  with  its  reflected  frown,  its 
pointed  finger,  and  imperious  gesture,  giving  emphasis  to 
the  aspect  of  little  Pearl. 

"•Hasten,  Pearl;  or  I  shall  be  angry  with  thee!" 
cried  Hester  Prynne,  who,  however  inured  to  such 
behavior  on  the  elf-child's  part  at  other  seasons,  was 
naturally  anxious  for  a  more  seemly  deportment  now. 
"  Leap  across  the  brook,  naughty  child,  and  run  hither ! 
Else  I  must  come  to  thee  !  " 

But  Pearl,  not  a  whit  startled  at  her  mother's  threats, 
any  more  than  mollified  by  her  entreaties,  now  suddenly 
burst  into  a  fit  of  passion,  gesticulating  violently,  and 
throwing  her  small  figure  into  the  most  extravagant 
contortions.  She  accompanied  this  wild  outbreak  with 
piercing  shrieks,  which  the  woods  reverberated  on  all 
sides ;  so  that ,  alone  as  she  was  in  her  childish  and  un 
reasonable  wrath,  it  seemed  as  if  a  hidden  multitude 
were  lending  her  their  sympathy  and  encouragement. 
Seen  in  the  brook,  once  more,  was  the  shadowy  wrath 
of  Pearl's  image,  crowned  and  girdled  with  flowers,  but 
stamping  its  foot,  wildly  gesticulating,  and,  in  the  midst 
of  all,  still  pointing  its  small  forefinger  at  Hester's 
bosom ! 

"  I  see  what  ails  the  child,"  whispered  Hester  to  the 
clergyman,  and  turning  pale  in  spite  of  a  strong  effort 
to  conceal  her  trouble  and  annoyance.  "  Children  will 
not  abide  any,  the  slightest,  change  in  the  accustomed 
aspect  of  things  that  are  daily  before  their  eyes.  Pearl 
misses  something  which  she  has  always  seen  me  wear !  " 


THE    CHILD    AT    THE    BKOOK-SIDE.          239 

"I  pray  you,"  answered  the  minister,  "if  thou  hast 
any  means  of  pacifying  the  child,  do  it  forthwith  !  Save 
it  were  the  cankered  wrath  of  an  old  witch,  like  Mistre^ 
Hibbins,"  added  he,  attempting  to  smile,  "  I  know  noth 
ing  that  I  would  not  sooner  encounter  than  this  passion 
in  a  child.  In  Pearl's  young  beauty,  as  in  the  wrinkled 
witch,  it  has  a  preternatural  effect.  Pacify  her,  if  thou 
lovest  me !  " 

Hester  turned  again  towards  Pearl,  with  a  crimson 
blush  upon  her  cheek,  a  conscious  glance  aside  at  the 
clergyman,  and  then  a  heavy  sigh;  while,  even  before 
she  had  time  to  speak,  the  blush  yielded  to  a  deadly 
pallor. 

"Pearl,"  said  she,  sadly,  "look  down  at  thy  feet! 
There !  —  before  thee  !  —  on  the  hither  side  of  the 
brook ! " 

The  child  turned  her  eyes  to  the  point  indicated ;  and 
there  lay  the  scarlet  letter,  so  close  upon  the  margin  of 
the  stream,  that  the  gold  embroidery  was  reflected  in  it. 

"  Bring  it  hither !  "  said  Hester. 

"  Come  thou  and  take  it  up  !  "  answered  Pearl. 

"  Was  ever  such  a  child  !  "  observed  Hester,  aside  to 
the  minister.  "  O,  I  have  much  to  tell  thee  about  her ! 
But,  in  very  truth,  she  is  right  as  regards  this  hateful 
token.  I  must  bear  its  torture  yet  a  little  longer,  — 
only  a  few  days  longer,  —  until  we  shall  have  left  this 
region,  and  look  back  hither  as  to  a  land  which  we  have 
dreamed  of.  The  forest  cannot  hide  it !  The  mid-ocean 
shall  take  it  from  my  hand,  and  swallow  it  up  forever !  " 

With  these  words,  she  advanced  to  the  margin  of  the 
brook,  ,took  up  the  scarlet  letter,  and  fastened  it  again 
into  her  bosom.  Hopefully,  but  a  moment  ago,  as  Hes 
ter  had  spoken  of  drowning  it  in  the  deep  sea,  there 
was  a  sense  of  inevitable  doom  upon  her,  as  she  thus 


240         THE  SCARLET  LETTEK. 

received  back  this  deadly  symbol  from  the  hand  of  fate. 
She  had  flung  it  into  infinite  space !  —  she  had  drawn 
an  hour's  free  breath  !  —  and  here  again  was  the  scarlet 
misery,  glittering  on  the  old  spot !  So  it  ever  is,  whether 
thus  typified  or  no,  that  an  evil  deed  invests  itself  with 
the  character  of  doom.  Hester  next  gathered  up  the 
heavy  tresses  of  her  hair,  and  confined  them  beneath  her 
cap.  As  if  there  were  a  withering  spell  in  the  sad  let 
ter,  her  beauty,  the  warmth  and  richness  of  her  woman 
hood,  departed,  like  fading  sunshine  ;  and  a  gray  shadow 
seemed  to  fall  across  her. 

When  the  dreary  change  was  wrought,  she  extended 
her  hand  to  Pearl. 

"  Dost  thou  know  thy  mother  now,  child  ?  "  asked 
she,  reproachfully,  but  with  a  subdued  tone.  "Wilt 
thou  come  across  the  brook,  and  own  thy  mother,  now 
that  she  has  her  shame  upon  her,  —  now  that  she  is 


"  Yes ;  now  I  will !  "  answered  the  child,  bounding 
across  the  brook,  and  clasping  Hester  in  her  arms. 
"  Now  thou  art  my  mother  indeed !  And  I  am  thy 
little  Pearl !  " 

In  a  mood  of  tenderness  that  was  not  usual  with  her, 
she  drew  down  her  mother's  head,  and  kissed  her  brow 
and  both  her  cheeks.  But  then  —  by  a  kind  of  neces 
sity  that  always  impelled  this  child  to  alloy  whatever 
comfort  she  might  chance  to  give  with  a  throb  of  an 
guish  —  Pearl  put  up  her  mouth,  and  kissed  the  scarlet 
letter  too  ! 

"That  was  not  kind!"  said  Hester.  "When  thou 
hast  shown  me  a  little  love,  thou  mockest  me  !  " 

"Why  doth  the  minister  sit  yonder  ?  "  asked  Pearl. 

"He  waits  to  welcome  thee,"  replied  her  mother. 
"  Come  thou,  and  entreat  his  blessing !  He  loves  thee, 


THE    CHILD    AT   THE    BROOK-SIDE.          241 

my  little  Pearl,  and  loves  thy  mother  too.  Wilt  thou 
not  love  him  ?  Come !  he  longs  to  greet  thee  !  " 

"  Doth  he  love  us  ? "  said  Pearl,  looking  up,  with 
acute  intelligence,  into  her  mother's  face.  "  Will  he  go 
back  with  us,  hand  in  hand,  we  three  together,  into  the 
town  ?  " 

"Not  now,  dear  child,"  answered  Hester.  "But  in 
days  to  come  he  will  walk  hand  in  hand  with  us.  We 
will  have  a  home  and  fireside  of  our  own;  and  thou 
shalt  sit  upon  his  knee;  and  he  will  teach  thee  many 
things,  and  love  thee  dearly.  Thou  wilt  love  him ;  wilt 
thou  not  ?  " 

"And  will  he  always  keep  his  hand  over  his  heart  ?  " 
inquired  Pearl. 

"  Foolish  child,  what  a  question  is  that ! "  exclaimed 
her  mother.  "  Come  and  ask  his  blessing !  " 

But,  whether  influenced  by  the  jealousy  that  seems 
instinctive  with  every  petted  child  towards  a  dangerous 
rival,  or  from  whatever  caprice  of  her  freakish  nature, 
Pearl  would  show  no  favor  to  the  clergyman.  It  was 
only  by  an  exertion  of  force  that  her  mother  brought 
her  up  to  him,  hanging  back,  and  manifesting  her  reluc 
tance  by  odd  grimaces ;  of  which,  ever  since  her  baby 
hood,  she  had  possessed  a  singular  variety,  and  could 
transform  her  mobile  physiognomy  into  a  series  of  differ 
ent  aspects,  with  a  new  mischief  in  them,  each  and  all. 
The  minister  —  painfully  embarrassed,  but  hoping  that 
a  kiss  might  prove  a  talisman  to  admit  him  into  the 
child's  kindlier  regards  —  bent  forward,  and  impressed 
one  on  her  brow.  Hereupon,  Pearl  broke  away  from 
her  mother,  and,  running  to  the  brook,  stooped  over  it, 
and  bathed  her  forehead,  until  the  unwelcome  kiss  was 
quite  washed  off,  and  diffused  through  a  long  lapse  of 
the  gliding  water.  She  then  remained  apart,  silently 
11  P 


242 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 


watching  Hester  and  the  clergyman ;  while  they  talked 
together,  and  made  such  arrangements  as  were  sug 
gested  by  their  new  position,  and  the  purposes  soon  to 
be  fulfilled. 

And  now  tin's  fateful  interview  had  come  to  a  close. 
The  dell  was  to  be  left  a  solitude  among  its  dark,  old 
trees,  which,  with  their  multitudinous  tongues,  would 
whisper  long  of  what  had  passed  there,  and  no  mortal 
be  the  wiser.  And  the  melancholy  brook  would  add  this 
other  tale  to  the  mystery  with  which  its  little  heart  was 
already  overburdened,  and  whereof  it  still  kept  up  a  mur 
muring  babble,  with  not  a  whit  more  cheerfulness  of  tone 
than  for  ages  heretofore. 


XX. 

THE  MINISTER  IN  A  MAZE 

|S  the  minister  departed,  in  advance  of  Hester 
Prynne  and  little  Pearl,  he  threw  a  backward 
glance ;  half  expecting  that  he  should  discover 
only  some  faintly  traced  features  or  outline  of  the  mother 
and  the  child,  slowly  fading  into  the  twilight  of  the 
woods.  So  great  a  vicissitude  in  his  life  could  not  at 
once  be  received  as  real.  But  there  was  Hester,  clad  in 
her  gray  robe,  still  standing  beside  the  tree-trunk,  which 
some  blast  had  overthrown  a  long  antiquity  ago,  and 
which  time  had  ever  since  been  covering  with  moss,  so 
that  these  two  fated  ones,  with  earth's  heaviest  burden 
on  them,  might  there  sit  down  together,  and  find  a  single 
hour's  rest  and  solace.  And  there  was  Pearl,  too,  lightly 
dancing  from  the  margin  of  the  brook,  —  now  that  the 
intrusive  third  person  was  gone,  —  and  taking  her  old 
place  by  her  mother's  side.  So  the  minister  had  not 
fallen  asleep  and  dreamed  ! 

In  order  to  free  his  mind  from  this  indistinctness  and 
duplicity  of  impression,  which  vexed  it  with  a  strange 
disquietude,  he  recalled  and  more  thoroughly  defined 
the  plans  which  Hester  and  himself  had  sketched  for 
their  departure.  It  had  been  determined  between  them, 


244  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

that  the  Old  World,  with  its  crowds  and  cities,  offered 
them  a  more  eligible  shelter  and  concealment  than  the 
wilds  of  New  England,  or  all  America,  with  its  alter 
natives  of  an  Indian  wigwam,  or  the  few  settlements  of 
Europeans,  scattered  thinly  along  the  seaboard.  Not  to 
speak  of  the  clergyman's  health,  so  inadequate  to  sus 
tain  the  hardships  of  a  forest  life,  his  native  gifts,  his 
culture,  and  his  entire  development,  would  secure  him  a 
home  only  in  the  midst  of  civilization  and  refinement; 
the  higher  the  state,  the  more  delicately  adapted  to  it 
the  man.  In  furtherance  of  this  choice,  it  so  happened 
that  a  ship  lay  in  the  harbor ;  one  of  those  questionable 
cruisers,  frequent  at  that  day,  which,  without  being  ab 
solutely  outlaws  of  the  deep,  yet  roamed  over  its  surface 
with  a  remarkable  irresponsibility  of  character.  This 
vessel  had  recently  arrived  from  the  Spanish  Main,  and, 
within  three  days'  time,  would  sail  for  Bristol.  Hester 
Prynne  —  whose  vocation,  as  a  self-enlisted  Sister  of 
Charity,  had  brought  her  acquainted  with  the  captain 
and  crew  —  could  take  upon  herself  to  secure  the  pas 
sage  of  two  individuals  and  a  child,  with  all  the  secrecy 
which  circumstances  rendered  more  than  desirable. 

The  minister  had  inquired  of  Hester,  with  no  little 
interest,  the  precise  time  at  which  the  vessel  might  be 
expected  to  depart.  It  would  probably  be  on  the  fourth 
day  from  the  present.  "  That  is  most  fortunate  !  "  he 
had  then  said  to  himself.  Now,  why  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  considered  it  so  very  fortunate,  we  hesitate 
to  reveal.  Nevertheless,  —  to  hold  nothing  back  from 
the  reader,  —  it  was  because,  on  the  third  day  from  the 
present,  he  was  to  preach  the  Election  Sermon ;  and,  as 
such  an  occasion  formed  an  honorable  epoch  in  the  life 
of  a  New  England  clergyman,  he  could  not  have  chanced 
upon  a  more  suitable  mode  and  time  of  terminating  his 


THE    MINISTER    IN   A    MAZE.  245 

professional  career.  "  At  least,  they  shall  say  of  me/* 
thought  this  exemplary  man,  "that  I  leave  no  public 
duty  unperformed,  nor  ill  performed ! "  Sad,  indeed, 
that  an  introspection  so  profound  and  acute  as  this  poor 
minister's  should  be  so  miserably  deceived !  We  have 
had,  and  may  still  have,  worse  things  to  tell  of  him  ;  but 
none,  we  apprehend,  so  pitiably  weak ;  no  evidence,  at 
once  so  slight  and  irrefragable,  of  a  subtle  disease,  that 
had  long  since  begun  to  eat  into  the  real  substance  of 
his  character.  No  man,  for  any  considerable  period,  can 
wear  one  face  to  himself,  and  another  to  the  multitude, 
without  finally  getting  bewildered  as  to  which  may  be 
the  true. 

The  excitement  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  feelings,  as  he 
returned  from  his  interview  with  Hester,  lent  him  unac 
customed  physical  energy,  and  hurried  him  townward  at 
a  rapid  pace.  The  pathway  among  the  woods  seemed 
wilder,  more  uncouth  with  its  rude  natural  obstacles,  and 
less  trodden  by  the  foot  of  man,  than  he  remembered  it 
on  his  outward  journey.  But  he  leaped  across  the  plashy 
places,  thrust  himself  through  the  clinging  underbrush, 
climbed  the  ascent,  plunged  into  the  hollow,  and  over 
came,  in  short,  all  the  difficulties  of  the  track,  with  an 
unweariable  activity  that  astonished  him.  He  could  not 
but  recall  how  feebly,  and  with  what  frequent  pauses  for 
breath,  he  had  toiled  over  the  same  ground,  only  two 
days  before.  As  he  drew  near  the  town,  he  took  an 
impression  of  change  from  the  series  of  familiar  objects 
that  presented  themselves.  It  seemed  not  yesterday,  not 
one,  nor  two,  but  many  days,  or  even  years  ago,  since 
he  had  quitted  them.  There,  indeed,  was  each  former 
trace  of  the  street,  as  he  remembered  it,  and  all  the  pecul 
iarities  of  the  houses,  with  the  due  multitude  of  gable- 
peaks,  and  a  weathercock  at  every  point  where  his 


246         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

memory  suggested  one.  Not  the  less,  however,  came 
this  importunately  obtrusive  sense  of  change.  The  same 
was  true  as  regarded  the  acquaintances  whom  he  met, 
and  all  the  well-known  shapes  of  human  life,  about  the 
little  town  They  looked  neither  older  nor  younger 
now ;  the  beards  of  the  aged  were  no  whiter,  nor  could 
the  creeping  babe  of  yesterday  walk  on  his  feet  to-day  ; 
it  was  impossible  to  describe  in  what  respect  they  differed 
from  the  individuals  on  whom  he  had  so  recently  be 
stowed  a  parting  glance  ;  and  yet  the  minister's  deepest 
sense  seemed  to  inform  him  of  their  mutability.  A  simi 
lar  impression  struck  him  most  remarkably,  as  he  passed 
under  the  walls  of  his  own  church.  The  edifice  had  so 
very  strange,  and  jet  so  familiar,  an  aspect,  that  Mr. 
Dimmesdale's  mink  vibrated  between  two  ideas ;  either 
that  he  had  seen  it  only  in  a  dream  hitLertt^  or  thav  he 
was  merely  dreaming  about  it  now. 

This  phenomenon,  in  the  various  shapes  which  it  as 
sumed,  indicated  no  external  change,  but  so  sudden  and 
important  a  change  in  the  spectator  of  the  familiar  scene, 
that  the  intervening  space  of  a  single  day  had  operated 
on  his  consciousness  like  the  lapse  of  years.  The  min 
ister's  own  will,  and  Hester's  will,  and  the  fate  that  grew 
between  them,  had  wrought  this  transformation.  It  was 
the  same  town  as  heretofore;  but  the  same  minister 
returned  not  from  the  forest.  He  might  have  said  to  the 
friends  who  greeted  him,  —  "  I  am  not  the  man  for  whom 
r  ou  take  me  !  I  left  him  yonder  in  the  forest,  withdrawn 

nto  a  secret  dell,  by  a  mossy  tree-trunk,  and  near  a 
elancholy  brook !     Go,   seek  your  minister,   and   see 

f  his  emaciated  figure,  his  thin  cheek,  his  white,  heavy, 
pain-wrinkled  brow,  be  not  flung  down  there,  like 
a  cast-off  garment ! "  His  friends,  no  doubt,  would 
still  have  insisted  with  him,  —  "  Thou  art  thyself  the 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A    MAZE. 

man ! "  —  but  the   error  would  have  been  their  own, 
not  his. 

Before  Mr.  Dimmesdale  reached  home,  his  inner  man 
gave  him  other  evidences  of  a  revolution  in  the  sphere 
of  thought  and  feeling.  In  truth,  nothing  short  of  a 
total  change  of  dynasty  and  moral  code,  in  that  interior 
kingdom,  was  adequate  to  account  for  the  impulses  now 
communicated  to  the  unfortunate  and  startled  minister. 
At  every  step  he  was  incited  to  do  some  strange,  wild, 
wicked  thing  or  other,  with  a  sense  that  it  would  be  at 
once  involuntary  and  intentional ;  in  spite  of  himself,  yet 
growing  out  of  a  profounder  self  than  that  which  opposed 
the  impulse.  For  instance,  he  met  one  of  his  own  dea 
cons.  The  good  old  man  addressed  him  with  the  pater 
nal  affection  and  patriarchal  privilege,  which  his  venerable 
age,  his  upright  and  holy  character,  and  his  station  in 
the  Church,  entitled  him  to  use ;  and,  conjoined  with 
this,  the  deep,  almost  worshipping  respect,  which  the 
minister's  professional  and  private  claims  alike  demanded. 
Never  was  there  a  more  beautiful  example  of  how  the 
majesty  of  age  and  wisdom  may  comport  with  the  obei 
sance  and  respect  enjoined  upon  it,  as  from  a  lower  social 
rank,  and  inferior  order  of  endowment,  towards  a  higher. 
Now,  during  a  conversation  of  some  two  or  three  mo 
ments  between  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  and  this 
excellent  and  hoary-bearded  deacon,  it  was  only  by  the 
most  careful  self-control  that  the  former  could  refrain 
from  uttering  certain  blasphemous  suggestions  that  rose 
into  his  mind,  respecting  the  communion  supper.  He 
absolutely  trembled  and  turned  pale  as  ashes,  lest  his 
tongue  should  wag  itself,  in  utterance  of  these  horrible 
matters,  and  plead  his  own  consent  for  so  doing,  without 
his  having  fairly  given  it.  And,  even  with  this  terror  in 
his  heart,  he  could  hardly  avoid  laughing,  to  imagine  how 


248  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

the  sanctified  old  patriarchal   deacon  would   have  been 
petrified  by  his  minister's  impiety  ! 

Again,  another  incident  of  the  same  nature.  Hurry 
ing  along  the  street,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
encountered  the  eldest  female  member  of  his  church ;  a 
most  pious  and  exemplary  old  dame ;  poor,  widowed, 
lonely,  and  with  a  heart  as  full  of  reminiscences  about 
her  dead  husband  and  children,  and  her  dead  friends 
of  long  ago,  as  a  burial-ground  is  full  of  storied  grave 
stones.  Yet  all  this,  which  would  else  have  been  such 
heavy  sorrow,  was  made  almost  a  solemn  joy  to  her  de 
vout  old  soul,  by  religious  consolations  and  the  truths  of 
Scripture,  wherewith  she  had  fed  herself  continually  for 
more  than  thirty  years.  And,  since  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had 
taken  her  in  charge,  the  good  grandam's  chief  earthly 
comfort  —  which,  unless  it  had  been  likewise  a  heavenly 
comfort,  could  have  been  none  at  all  —  was  to  meet  her 
pastor,  whether  casually,  or  of  set  purpose,  and  be  re 
freshed  with  a  word  of  warm,  fragrant,  heaven-breathing 
Gospel  truth,  from  his  beloved  lips,  into  her  dulled,  but 
rapturously  attentive  ear.  But,  on  this  occasion,  up  to 
the  moment  of  putting  his  lips  to  the  old  woman's  ear, 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  as  the  great  enemy  of  souls  would  have 
it,  could  recall  no  text  of  Scripture,  nor  aught  else,  ex 
cept  a  brief,  pithy,  and,  as  it  then  appeared  to  him, 
unanswerable  argument  against  the  immortality  of  the 
human  soul.  The  instilment  thereof  into  her  mind  would 
probably  have  caused  this  aged  sister  to  drop  down  dead, 
at  once,  as  by  the  effect  of  an  intensely  poisonous  in 
fusion.  What  he  really  did  whisper,  the  minister  could 
never  afterwards  recollect.  There  was,  perhaps,  a  for 
tunate  disorder  in  his  utterance,  which  failed  to  impart 
any  distinct  idea  to  the  good  widow's  comprehension,  or 
which  Providence  interpreted  after  a  method  of  its  own. 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A    MAZE.  £49 

Assuredly,  as  the  minister  looked  back,  he  beheld  an 
expression  of  divine  gratitude  and  ecstasy  that  seemed 
like  the  shine  of  the  celestial  city  on  her  face,  so  wrinkled 
and  ashy  pale. 

Again,  a  third  instance.  After  parting  from  the  old 
church-member,  he  met  the  youngest  sister  of  them  all. 
It  was  a  maiden  newly  won  — and  won  by  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Dimmesdale's  own  sermon,  on  the  Sabbath  after  his 
vigil  —  to  barter  the  transitory  pleasures  of  the  world 
for  the  heavenly  hope,  that  was  to  assume  brighter  sub 
stance  as  life  grew  dark  around  her,  and  which  would 
gild  the  utter  gloom  with  final  glory.  She  was  fair  and 
pure  as  a  lily  that  had  bloomed  in  Paradise.  The  minis 
ter  knew  well  that  he  was  himself  enshrined  within  the 
stainless  sanctity  of  her  heart,  which  hung  its  snowy  cur 
tains  about  his  image,  imparting  to  religion  the  warmth 
of  love,  and  to  love  a  religious  purity.  Satan,  that  after 
noon,  had  surely  led  the  poor  young  girl  away  from  her 
mother's  side,  and  thrown  her  into  the  pathway  of  this 
sorely  tempted,  or  —  shall  we  not  rather  say  ?  —  this 
lost  and  desperate  man.  As  she  drew  nigh,  the  arch 
fiend  whispered  him  to  condense  into  small  compass  and 
drop  into  her  tender  bosom  a  germ  of  evil  that  would  be 
sure  to  blossom  darkly  soon,  and  bear  black  fruit  betimes. 
Such  was  hTs  sense  of  power  over  this  virgin  soul,  trust 
ing  him  as  she  did,  that  the  minister  felt  potent  to  blight 
all  the  field  of  innocence  with  but  one  wicked  look,  and 
develop  all  its  opposite  with  but  a  word.  So  —  with  a 
mightier  struggle  than  he  had  yet  sustained  —  he  held 
his  Geneva  cloak  before  his  face,  and  hurried  onward, 
making  no  sign  of  recognition,  and  leaving  the  young 
sister  to  digest  his  rudeness  as  she  might.  She  ran 
sacked  her  conscience,  —  which  was  full  of  harmless  lit 
tle  matters,  like  her  pocket  or  her  work-bag,  —  and  took 
11  * 


250         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

herself  to  task,  poor  thing!  for  a  thousand  imaginary 
faults ;  and  went  about  her  household  duties  with  swol 
len  eyelids  the  next  morning. 

Before  the  minister  had  time  to  celebrate  his  victory 
over  this  last  temptation,  he  was  conscious  of  another 
impulse,  more  ludicrous,  and  almost  as  horrible.  It  was, 
—  we  blush  to  tell  it,  —  it  was  to  stop  short  in  the  road, 
and  teach  some  very  wicked  words  to  a  knot  of  little 
Puritan  children  who  were  playing  there,  and  had  but 
just  begun  to  talk.  Denying  himself  this  freak,  as  un 
worthy  of  his  cloth,  he  met  a  drunken  seaman,  one  of 
the  ship's  crew  from  the  Spanish  Main.  And,  here, 
since  he  had  so  valiantly  forborne  all  other  wickedness, 
poor  Mr.  Dimmesdale  longed,  at  least,  to  shake  hands 
with  the  tarry  blackguard,  and  recreate  himself  with  a 
few  improper  jests,  such  as  dissolute  sailors  so  abound 
with,  and  a  volley  of  good,  round,  solid,  satisfactory, 
and  heaven-defying  oaths  !  It  was  not  so  much  a  better 
principle  as  partly  his  natural  good  taste,  and  still  more 
his  buckramed  habit  of  clerical  decorum,  that  carried  him 
safely  through  the  latter  crisis. 

"  What  is  it  that  haunts  and  tempts  me  thus  ?  "  cried 
the  minister  to  himself,  at  length,  pausing  in  the  street, 
and  striking  his  hand  against  his  forehead.  "  Am  I 
mad  ?  or  am  I  given  over  utterly  to  the  fiend  ?  Did  I 
make  a  contract  with  him  in  the  forest,  and  sign  it  with 
my  blood  ?  And  does  he  now  summon  me  to  its  fulfil 
ment,  by  suggesting  the  performance  of  every  wickedness 
which  his  most  foul  imagination  can  conceive  ?  " 

At  the  moment  when  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
thus  communed  with  himself,  and  struck  his  forehead 
with  his  hand,  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the  reputed  witch- 
lady,  is  said  to  have  been  passing  by.  She  made  a  very 
grand  appearance  ;  having  on  a  high  head-dress,  a  rich 


THE    MINISTER   IN   A   MAZE.  251 

£jown  of  velvet,  and  a  ruff  done  up  with  the  famous 
yellow  starch,  of  which  Ann  Turner,  her  especial  friend, 
had  taught  her  the  secret,  before  this  last  good  lady  had 
been  hanged  for  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's  murder.  Whether 
the  witch  had  read  the  minister's  thoughts,  or  no,  she 
came  to  a  full  stop,  looked  shrewdly  into  his  face,  smiled 
craftily,  and  —  though  little  given  to  converse  with  cler 
gymen  —  began  a  conversation. 

"  So,  reverend  Sir,  you  have  made  a  visit  into  the 
forest/1  observed  the  witch-lady,  nodding  her  high  head 
dress  at  him.  "  The  next  time,  I  pray  you  to  allow  me 
only  a  fair  warning,  and  I  shall  be  proud  to  bear  you 
company.  Without  taking  overmuch  upon  myself,  my 
good  word  will  go  far  towards  gaining  any  strange  gentle 
man  a  fair  reception  from  yonder  potentate  you  wot  of ! J> 

"  I  profess,  madam,"  answered  the  clergyman,  with  a 
grave  obeisance,  such  as  the  lady's  rank  demanded,  and 
his  own  good-breeding  made  imperative,  —  "I  profess, 
on  my  conscience  and  character,  that  I  am  utterly  be 
wildered  as  touching  the  purport  of  your  words !  I 
went  not  into  the  forest  to  seek  a  potentate ;  neither  do 
I,  at  any  future  time,  design  a  visit  thither,  with  a  view 
to  gaining  the  favor  of  such  a  personage.  My  one  suffi 
cient  object  was  to  greet  that  pious  friend  of  mine,  the 
Apostle  Eliot,  and  rejoice  with*  him  over  the  many 
precious  souls  he  hath  won  from  heathendom ! " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  cackled  the  old  witch-lady,  still  nod 
ding  her  high  head-dress  at  the  minister.  "Well,  well, 
we  must  needs  talk  thus  in  the  daytime  !  You  carry  it 
off  like  an  old  hand !  But  at  midnight,  and  in  the  forest, 
we  shall  have  other  talk  together !  " 

She  passed  on  with  her  aged  stateliness,  but  often 
turning  back  her  head  and  smiling  at  him,  like  one  will, 
ing  to  recognize  a  secret  intimacy  of  connection. 


25.2  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

"  Have  I  then  sold  myself,"  thought  the  minister,  "  to 
the  fiend  whom,  if  men  say  true,  this  yellow-starched 
and  velveted  old  hag  has  chosen  for  her  prince  and 
master ! " 

The  wretched  minister !  He  had  made  a  bargain  very 
like  it !  Tempted  by  a  dream  of  happiness,  he  had  yielded 
himself,  with  deliberate  choice,  as  he  had  never  done  be 
fore,  to  what  he  knew  was  deadly  sin.  And  the  infectious 
poison  of  that  sin  had  been  thus  rapidly  diffused  through 
out  his  moral  system.  It  had  stupefied  all  blessed  im 
pulses,  and  awakened  into  vivid  life  the  whole  brotherhood 
of  bad  ones.  Scorn,  bitterness,  unprovoked  malignity, 
gratuitous  desire  of  ill,  ridicule  of  whatever  was  good  and 
holy,  all  awoke,  to  tempt,  even  while  they  frightened  him. 
And  his  encounter  with  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  if  it  were 
-/a  real  incident,  did  but  show  his  sympathy  and  fellow 
ship  with  wicked  mortals,  and  the  world  of  perverted 
spirits. 

He  had,  by  this  time,  reached  his  dwelling,  on  the  edge 
of  the  burial-ground,  and,  hastening  up  the  stairs,  took 
refuge  in  his  study.  The  minister  was  glad  to  have 
reached  this  shelter,  without  first  betraying  himself  to 
the  world  by  any  of  those  strange  and  wicked  eccentrici 
ties  to  which  he  had  been  continually  impelled  while  pass 
ing  through  the  streets.  He  entered  the  accustomed 
room,  and  looked  around  him  on  its  books,  its  windows, 
its  fireplace,  and  "he  tapestried  comfort  of  the  walls,  with 
the  same  perception  of  strangeness  that  had  haunted  him 
throughout  his  walk  from  the  forest-dell  into  the  town, 
and  thitherward.  Here  he  had  studied  and  written ; 
here,  gone  through  fast  and  vigil,  and  come  forth  half 
alive ;  here,  striven  to  pray ;  here,  borne  a  hundred  thou 
sand  agonies  !  There  was  the  Bible,  in  its  rich  old  He 
brew,  with  Meses  and  the  Prophets  speaking  to  him,  and 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A    MAZE.  253 

God's  voice  through  all !  There,  on  the  table,  with  the 
inky  pen  beside  it,  was  an  unfinished  sermon,  with  a  sen 
tence  broken  in  the  midst,  where  his  thoughts  had  ceased 
to  gush  out  upon  the  page,  two  days  before.  He  knew 
that  it  was  himself,  the  thin  and  white-cheeked  minister, 
who  had  done  and  suifered  these  things,  and  written  thus 
far  into  the  Election  Sermon !  But  he  seemed  to  stand 
apart,  and  eye  this  former  self  with  scornful,  pitying,  but 
half-envious  curiosity.  That  self  was  gone.  Another 
man  had  returned  out  of  the  forest ;  a  wiser  one ;  with  a 
knowledge  of  hidden  mysteries  which  the  simplicity  of 
the  former  never  could  have  reached.  A  bitter  kind  of 
knowledge  that ! 

While  occupied  with  these  reflections,  a  knock  came 
at  the  door  of  the  study,  and  the  minister  said,  "  Come 
in  !  "  — not  wholly  devoid  of  an  idea  that  he  might  be 
hold  an  evil  spirit.  And  so  he  did  !  It  was  old  Roger 
Chillingworth  that  entered.  The  minister  stood,  white 
and  speechless,  with  one  hand  on  the  Hebrew  Scriptures, 
and  the  other  spread  upon  his  breast. 

"Welcome  home,  reverend  Sir,"  said  the  physician. 
"  And  how  found  you  that  godly  man,  the  Apostle  Eliot  ? 
But  methinks,  dear  Sir,  you  look  pale ;  as  if  the  travel 
through  the  wilderness  had  been  too  sore  for  you.  Will 
not  my  aid  be  requisite  to  put  you  in  heart  and  strength 
to  preach  your  Election  Sermon  ?  " 

"Nay,  I  think  not  so,"  rejoined  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale.  "My  journey,  and  the  sight  of  the  holy 
Apostle  yonder,  and  the  free  air  which  I  have  breathed, 
have  done  me  good,  after  so  long  confinement  in  my 
study.  I  think  to  need  no  more  of  your  drugs,  my  kind 
physician,  good  though  they  be,  and  administered  by  a 
friendly  hand." 

All  this  time,  Roger  Chillingworth  was  looking  at  the 


254         THE  SCAKLET  LETTER. 

minister  with  the  grave  and  intent  regard  of  a  physician 
towards  his  patient.  But,  in  spite  of  this  ontward  show, 
•the  latter  was  almost  convinced  of  the  old  man's  knowl 
edge,  or,  at  least,  his  confident  suspicion,  with  respect  to 
his  own  interview  with  Hester  Prynne.  The  physician 
knew  then,  that,  in  the  minister's  regard,  he  was  no 
longer  a  trusted  friend,  but  his  bitterest  enemy.  So 
much  being  known,  it  would  appear  natural  that  a  part 
of  it  should  be  expressed.  It  is  singular,  however,  how 
long  a  time  often  passes  before  words  embody  things 
and  with  what  security  two  persons,  who  choose  to  avoid 
a  certain  subject,  may  approach  its  very  verge,  and  retire 
without  disturbing  it.  Thus,  the  minister  felt  no  appre 
hension  that  Roger  Chill  ingworth  would  touch,  in  ex 
press  words,  upon  the  real  position  which  they  sustained 
towards  one  another.  Yet  did  the  physician,  in  his  dark 
way,  creep  frightfully  near  the  secret. 

"  Were  it  not  better,"  said  he,  "  that  you  use  my  poor 
skill  to-night  ?  Verily,  dear  Sir,  we  must  take  pains  to 
make  you  strong  and  vigorous  for  this  occasion  of  the 
Election  discourse.  The  people  look  for  great  things 
from  you;  apprehending  that  another  year  may  come 
about,  and  find  their  pastor  gone." 

"Yea,  to  another  world,"  replied  the  minister,  with 
pious  resignation.  "  Heaven  grant  it  be  a  better  one ; 
for,  in  good  sooth,  I  hardly  think  to  tarry  with  my  flock 
through  the  flitting  seasons  of  another  year !  But,  touch 
ing  your  medicine,  kind  Sir,  in  my  present  frame  of  body, 
I  need  it  not." 

"  I  joy  to  hear  it,"  answered  the  physician.  "  It  may 
be  that  my  remedies,  so  long  administered  in  vain,  begin 
now  to  take  due  effect.  Happy  man  were  I,  and  well 
deserving  of  New  England's  gratitude,  could  I  achieve 
this  cure ! " 


THE    MINISTER    IN    A    MAZE.  255 

"  I  thank  you  from  my  heart,  most  watchful  friend," 
said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  with  a  solemn  smile. 
"  I  thank  you,  and  can  but  requite  your  good  deeds  with 
my  prayers." 

"  A  good  man's  prayers  are  golden  recompense  !  "  re 
joined  old  Roger  Chillirigworth,  as  he  took  his  leave. 
"  Yea,  they  are  the  current  gold  coin  of  the  New  Jeru 
salem,  with  the  King's  own  mint-mark  on  them  !  " 

Left  alone,  the  minister  summoned  a  servant  of  the 
house,  arid  requested  food,  which,  being  set  before  him, 
he  ate  with  ravenous  appetite.  Then,  flinging  the  already 
written  pages  of  the  Election  Sermon  into  the  fire,  he 
forthwith  began  another,  which  he  wrote  with  such  an 
impulsive  flow  of  thought  and  emotion,  that  he  fancied 
himself  inspired ;  and  only  wondered  that  Heaven  should 
see  fit  to  transmit  the  grand  and  solemn  music  of  its 
oracles  through  so  foul  an  organ-pipe  as  he.  However, 
leaving  that  mystery  to  solve  itself,  or  go  unsolved  for 
ever,  he  drove  his  task  onward,  with  earnest  haste  and 
ecstasy.  Thus  the  night  fled  away,  as  if  it  were  a  winged 
steed,  and  he  careering  on  it ;  morning  camte,  and  peeped, 
blushing,  through  the  curtains ;  and  at  last  sunrise  threw 
a  golden  beam  into  the  study  and  laid  it  right  across  the 
minister's  bedazzled  eyes.  There  he  was,  with  the  pen 
still  between  his  fingers,  and  a  vast,  immeasurable  tract 
of  written  space  behind  him  ! 


XXL 
THE  NEW  ENGLAND  HOLIDAY. 

ETIMES  in  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the 
new  Governor  was  to  receive  his  office  at  the 
hands  of  the  people,  Hester  Prynne  and  little 
Pearl  came  into  the  market-place.  It  was  already 
thronged  with  the  craftsmen  and  other  plebeian  inhab 
itants  of  the  town,  in  considerable  numbers;  among 
whom,  likewise,  were  many  rough  figures,  whose  attire 
of  deer-skins  marked  them  as  belonging  to  some  of  the 
forest  settlements,  which  surrounded  the  little  metropolis 
of  the  colony. 

On  this  public  holiday,  as  on  all  other  occasions,  for 
seven  years  past,  Hester  was  clad  in  a  garment  of  coarse 
gray  cloth.  Not  more  by  its  hue  than  by  some  indescrib 
able  peculiarity  in  its  fashion,  it  had  the  effect  of  making 
her  fade  personally  out  of  sight  and  outline  ;  while,  again, 
the  scarlet  letter  brought  her  back  from  this  twilight  in 
distinctness,  and  revealed  her  under  the  moral  aspect  of 
^tts  own  illumination.  Her  face,  so  long  familiar  to  the 
townspeople,  showed  the  marble  quietude  which  they 
were  accustomed  to  behold  there.  It  was  like  a  mask ; 
or,  rather,  like  the  frozen  calmness  of  a  dead  woman's 
features ;  owing  this  dreary  resemblance  to  the  fact  that 
Hester  was  actually  dead,  in  respect  to  any  claim  of  sym- 


THE    NEW    ENGLAND    HOLIDAY.    ^        257 

pathy,  and  had  departed  out  of  the  world  with  which  she 
still  seemed  to  mingle. 

It  might  be,  on  this  one  day,  that  there  was  an  expres 
sion  unseen  before,  nor,  indeed,  vivid  enough  to  be  de 
tected  now ;  unless  some  preternaturally  gifted  observer 
should  have  first  read  the  heart,  and  have  afterwards 
sought  a  corresponding  development  in  the  countenance 
and  mien.  Such  a  spiritual  seer  might  have  conceived, 
that,  after  sustaining  the  gaze  of  the  multitude  through 
seven  miserable  years  as  a  necessity,  a  penance,  and 
something  which  it  was  a  stern  religion  to  endure,  she 
now,  for  one  last  time  more,  encountered  it  freely  and 
voluntarily,  in  order  to  convert  what  had  so  long  been 
agony  into  a  kind  of  triumph.  "  Look  your  last  on  the 
scarlet  letter  and  its  wearer !  "  —the  people's  victim  and 
life-long  bond-slave,  as  they  fancied  her,  might  say  to 
them.  "  Yet  a  little  while,  and  she  will  be  beyond  your 
reach !  A  few  hours  longer,  and  the  deep,  mysterious 
ocean  will  quench  and  hide  forever  the  symbol  which  ye 
have  caused  to  burn  upon  her  bosom ! "  Nor  were  it 
an  inconsistency  too  improbable  to  be  assigned  to  human 
nature,  should  we  suppose  a  feeling  of  regret  in  Hester's 
mind,  at  the  moment  when  she  was  about  to  win  her 
freedom  from  the  pain  which  had  been  thus  deeply  incor 
porated  with  her  being.  Might  there  not  be  an  irresisti 
ble  desire  to  quaff  a  last,  long,  breathless  draught  of  the 
cup  of  wormwood  and  aloes,  with  which  nearly  all  her 
years  of  womanhood  had  been  perpetually  flavored  ?  The 
wine  of  life,  henceforth  to  be  presented  to  her  lips,  must 
be  indeed  rich,  delicious,  and  exhilarating,  in  its  chased 
and  golden  beaker ;  or  else  leave  an  inevitable  and  weary 
languor,  after  the  lees  of  bitterness  wherewith  she  had 
been  drugged,  as  with  a  cordial  of  intensest  potency. 

Pearl  was  decked  out  with  airy  gayety.  It  would 

Q 


258  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

have  been  impossible  to  guess  that  this  bright  a*d 
sunny  apparition  owed  its  existence  to  the  shape  of 
gloomy  gray ;  or  that  a  fancy,  at  once  so  gorgeous  and 
so  delicate  as  must  have  been  requisite  to  contrive  the 
child's  apparel,  was  the  same  that  had  achieved  a  task 
perhaps  more  difficult,  in  imparting  so  distinct  a  peculiar 
ity  to  Hester's  simple  robe.  The  dress,  so  proper  was  it 
to  little  Pearl,  seemed  an  effluence,  or  inevitable  devel 
opment  and  outward  manifestation  of  her  character,  no 
more  to  be  separated  from  her  than  the  many-hued  bril 
liancy  from  a  butterfly's  wing,  or  the  painted  glory  from 
the  leaf  of  a  bright  flower.  As  with  these,  so  with  the 
child ;  her  garb  was  all  of  one  idea  with  her  nature.  On 
this  eventful  day,  moreover,  there  was  a  certain  singular 
inquietude  and  excitement  in  her  mood,  resembling 
nothing  so  much  as  the  shimmer  of  a  diamond,  that 
sparkles  and  flashes  with  the  varied  throbbings  of  the 
breast  on  which  it  is  displayed.  Children  have  always 
a  sympathy  in  the  agitations  of  those  connected  with 
them ;  always,  especially,  a  sense  of  any  trouble  or  im 
pending  revolution,  of  whatever  kind,  in  domestic  cir 
cumstances  ;  and  therefore  Pearl,  who  was  the  gem  on 
her  mother's  unquiet  bosom,  betrayed,  by  the  very  dance 
of  her  spirits,  the  emotions  which  none  could  detect  in 
the  marble  passiveness  of  Hester's  brow. 

This  effervescence  made  her  flit  with  a  birdlike  move 
ment,  rather  than  walk  by  her  mother's  side.  She  broke 
continually  into  shouts  of  a  wild,  inarticulate,  and  some 
times  piercing  music.  When  they  reached  the  market 
place,  she  became  still  more  restless,  on  perceiving  the 
stir  and  bustle  that  enlivened  the  spot ;  for  it  was 
usually  more  like  the  broad  and  lonesome  green  before 
a  village  meeting-house,  than  the  centre  of  a  town's 
business. 


THE   NEW   ENGLAND   HOLIDAY.  £59 

"  Why,  what  is  this,  mother  ?  "  cried  she.  "  Where- 
fore  have  all  the  people  left  their  work  to-day  ?  Is  it  a 
play-day  for  the  whole  world  ?  See,  there  is.  the  black 
smith  !  He  has  washed  his  sooty  face,  and  put  on  his 
Sabbath-day  clothes,  and  looks  as  if  he  would  gladly  be 
merry,  if  any  kind  body  would  only  teach  him  how ! 
And  there  is  Master  Brackett,  the  old  jailer,  nodding 
and  smiling  at  me.  Why  does  he  do  so,  mother  ?  " 

"  He  remembers  thee  a  little  babe,  my  child/'  answered 
Hester. 

"  He  should  not  nod  and  smile  at  me,  for  all  that,  — 
the  black,  grim,  ugly-eyed  old  man !  "  said  Pearl.  "  He 
may  nod  at  thee,  if  he  will ;  for  thou  art  clad  in  gray, 
and  wearest  the  scarlet  letter.  But  see,  mother,  how 
many  faces  of  strange  people,  and  Indians  among  them, 
and  sailors !  What  have  they  all  come  to  do,  here  in 
the  market-place  ?  " 

"  They  wait  to  see  the  procession  pass,"  said  Hester. 
"  Eor  the  Governor  and  the  magistrates  are  to  go  by,  and 
the  ministers,  and  all  the  great  people  and  good  people, 
with  the  music  and  the  soldiers  marching  before  them." 

"And  will  the  minister  be  there?"  asked  Pearl. 
"  And  will  he  hold  out  both  his  hands  to  me,  as  when 
thou  ledst  me  to  him  from  the  brook  side  ?" 

"  He  will  be  there,  child,"  answered  her  mother, 
"But  he  will  not  greet  thee  to-day;  nor  must  thou 
greet  him." 

"  What  a  strange,  sad  man  is  he  !  "  said  the  child,  as 
if  speaking  partly  to  herself.  "In  the  dark  night-time 
he  calls  us  to  him,  and  holds  thy  hand  and  mine,  as 
when  we  stood  with  him  on  the  scaffold  yonder.  And 
in  the  deep  forest,  where  only  the  old  trees  can/ hear,  and 
the  strip  of  sky  see  it,  he  talks  with  thee,  sitting  on  a 
heap  of  moss !  And  he  kisses  my  forehead,  .too,  so  that 


260         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

the  little  brook  would  hardly  wash  it  off !  But  here,  in 
the  sunny  day,  and  among  all  the  people,  he  knows  us 
not ;  nor  must  we  know  him !  A  strange,  sad  man  is 
he,  with  his  hand  always  over  his  heart ! " 

"  Be  quiet,  Pearl !  Thou  understandest  not  these 
things,"  said  her  mother.  "  Think  not  now  of  the  min 
ister,  but  look  about  thee,  and  see  how  cheery  is  every 
body's  face  to-day.  The  children  have  come  from  their 
schools,  and  the  grown  people  from  their  workshops  and 
their  fields,  on  purpose  to  be  happy.  Eor,  to-day,  a  new 
man  is  beginning  to  rule  over  them;  and  so  —  as  has 
been  the  custom  of  mankind  ever  since  a  nation  was  first 
gathered  —  they  make  merry  and  rejoice;  as  if  a  good 
and  golden  year  were  at  length  to  pass  over  the  poor  old 
world !  " 

It  was  as  Hester  said,  in  regard  to  the  unwonted  jol 
lity  that  brightened  the  faces  of  the  people.  Into  this 
festal  season  of  the  year  —  as  it  already  was,  and  con 
tinued  to  be  during  the  greater  part  of  two  centuries  — 
the  Puritans  compressed  whatever  mirth  and  public  joy 
they  deemed  allowable  to  human  infirmity;  thereby  so 
far  dispelling  the  customary  cloud,  that,  for  the  space  of 
a  single  holiday,  they  appeared  scarcely  more  grave 
than  most  other  communities  at  a  period  of  general  af 
fliction. 

But  we  perhaps  exaggerate  the  gray  or  sable  tinge, 
which  undoubtedly  characterized  the  mood  and  manners 
of  the  age.  The  persons  now  in  the  market-place  of 
Boston  had  not  been  born  to  an  inheritance  of  Puritanic 
gloom.  They  were  native  Englishmen,  whose  fathers 
had  lived  in  the  sunny  richness  of  the  Elizabethan  epoch  ; 
a  time  when  the  life  of  England,  viewed  as  one  great 
mass,  would  appear  to  have  been  as  ?^tely,  magnificent^ 
and  joyous,  as  the  world  has  ever  witnessed.  Had  they 


THE    NEW   ENGLAND    HOLIDAY.  261 

followed  their  hereditary  taste,  the  New  England  settlers 
would  have  illustrated  all  events  of  public  importance  by 
bonfires,  banquets,  pageantries,  and  processions.  Nor 
would  it  have  been  impracticable,  in  the  observance  of 
majestic  ceremonies,  to  combine  mirthful  recreation  with 
solemnity,  and  give,  as  it  were,  a  grotesque  and  brilliant 
embroidery  to  the  great  robe  of  state,  which  a  nation,  at 
such  festivals,  puts  on.  There  was  some  shadow  of  an 
attempt  of  this  kind  in  the  mode  of  celebrating  the  day 
on  which  the  political  year  of  the  colony  commenced. 
The  dim  reflection  of  a  remembered  splendor,  a  colorless 
and  manifold  diluted  repetition  of  what  they  had  beheld 
in  proud  old  London,  —  we  will  not  say  at  a  royal  coro 
nation,  but  at  a  Lord  Mayor's  show,  —  might  be  traced 
in  the  customs  which  our  forefathers  instituted,  with 
reference  to  the  annual  installation  of  magistrates.  The 
fathers  and  founders  of  the  commonwealth  —  the  states 
man,  the  priest,  and  the  soldier  —  deemed  it  a  duty  then 
to  assume  the  outward  state  and  majesty,  which,  in 
accordance  with  antique  style,  was  looked  upon  as  the 
proper  garb  of  public  or  social  eminence.  All  came 
forth,  to  move  in  procession  before  the  people's  eye,  and 
thus  impart  a  needed  dignity  to  the  simple  framework  of 
a  government  so  newly  constructed. 

Then,  too,  the  people  were  countenanced,  if  not  en 
couraged,  in  relaxing  the  severe  and  close  application  to 
their  various  modes  of  rugged  industry,  which,  at  all 
other  times,  seemed  of  the  same  piece  and  material  with 
their  religion.  Here,  it  is  true,  were  none  of  the  appli 
ances  which  popular  merriment  would  so  readily  have 
found  in  the  England  of  Elizabeth's  time,  or  that  of 
James;  —  no  rude  shows  of  a  theatrical  kind ;  no  min- 
Btrel,  with  his  harp  and  legendary  ballad,  nor  gleeman, 
toith  an  ape  dancing  to  his  music ;  no  juggler,  with  his 


262         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

tricks  of  mimic  witchcraft ;  no  Merry  Andrew,  to  stir  up 
the  multitude  with  jests,  perhaps  hundreds  of  years  old, 
but  still  effective,  by  their  appeals  to  the  very  broadest 
sources  of  mirthful  sympathy.  All  such  professors  of 
the  several  branches  of  jocularity  would  have  been  sternly 
repressed,  not  only  by  the  rigid  discipline  of  law,  but 
by  the  general  sentiment  which  gives  law  its  vitality. 
Not  the  less,  however,  the  great,  honest  face  of  the 
people  smiled,  grimly,  perhaps,  but  widely  too.  Nor 
were  sports  wanting,  such  as  the  colonists  had  witnessed, 
and  shared  in,  long  ago,  at  the  country  fairs  and  on  the 
village-greens  of  England;  and  which  it  was  thought 
well  to  keep  alive  on  this  new  soil,  for  the  sake  of 
the  courage  and  manliness  that  were  essential  in  them. 
Wrestling-matches,  in  the  different  fashions  of  Cornwall 
and  Devonshire,  were  seen  here  and  there  about  the 
market-place;  in  one  corner,  there  was  a  friendly  bout 
at  quarterstaff;  and — what  attracted  most  interest  of 
all  —  on  the  platform  of  the  pillory,  already  so  noted  in 
our  pages,  two  masters  of  defence  were  commencing  an 
exhibition  with  the  buckler  and  broadsword.  But,  much 
to  the  disappointment  of  the  crowd,  this  latter  business 
was  broken  off  by  the  interposition  of  the  town  beadle, 
who  had  no  idea  of  permitting  the  majesty  of  the  law  to 
be  violated  by  such  an  abuse  of  one  of  its  consecrated 
places. 

It  may  not  be  too  much  to  affirm,  on  the  whole,  (the 
people  being  then  in  the  first  stages  of  joyless  deport 
ment,  and  the  offspring  of  sires  who  had  known  how  to 
be  merry,  in  their  day,)  that  they  would  compare  favora 
bly,  in  point  of  holiday  keeping,  with  their  descendants, 
even  at  so  long  an  interval  as  ourselves.  Their  immedi 
ate  posterity,  the  generation  next  to  the  early  emigrants, 
wore  the  blackest  shade  of  Puritanism,  and  so  darkened 


THE   NEW   ENGLAND    HOLIDAY.  263 

the  national  visage  with  it,  that  all  the  subsequent  years 
have  not  sufficed  to  clear  it  up.  We  have  yet  to  lean, 
again  the  forgotten  art  of  gayety. 

•  The  picture  of  human  life  in  the  market-place,  thougL 
its  general  tint  was  the  sad  gray,  brown,  or  black  of  thf 
English  emigrants,  was  yet  enlivened  by  some  diversity 
of  hue.  A  party  of  Indians  —  in  their  savage  finery  of 
curiously  embroidered  deer-skin  robes,  wampum-belts, 
red  and  yellow  ochre,  and  feathers,  and  armed  with  the 
bow  and  arrow  and  stone-headed  spear  —  stood  apart, 
with  countenances  of  inflexible  gravity,  beyond  what 
even  the  Puritan  aspect  could  attain.  Nor,  wild  as  were 
these  painted  barbarians,  were  they  the  wildest  feature 
of  the  scene.  This  distinction  could  more  justly  be 
claimed  by  some  mariners,  —  a  part  of  the  crew  of  the 
vessel  from  the  Spanish  Main,  —  who  had  come  ashore 
to  see  the  humors  of  Election  Day.  They  were  rough- 
looking  desperadoes,  with  sun-blackened  faces,  and  an 
immensity  of  beard ;  their  wide,  short  trousers  were  con 
fined  about  the  waist  by  belts,  often  clasped  with  a  rough 
plate  of  gold,  and  sustaining  always  a  long  knife,  and, 
in  some  instances,  a  sword.  Erom  beneath  their  broad- 
brimmed  hats  of  palm-leaf  gleamed  eyes  which,  even  in 
good-nature  and  merriment,  had  a  kind  of  animal  fe 
rocity.  They  transgressed,  without  fear  or  scruple,  the 
rules  of  behavior  that  were  binding  on  all  others ;  smok 
ing  tobacco  under  the  beadle's  very  nose,  although  each 
whiff  would  have  cost  a  townsman  a  shilling ;  and  quaff 
ing,  at  their  pleasure,  draughts  of  wine  or  aqua-vitae 
from  pocket-flasks,  which  they  freely  tendered  to  the 
gaping  crowd  around  them.  It  remarkably  characterized 
the  incomplete  morality  of  the  age,  rigid  as  we  call  it, 
that  a  license  was  allowed  the  seafaring  class,  not  merelj 
for  their  freaks  on  shore,  but  for  far  more  desperate 


264         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

deeds  on  their  proper  element.  The  sailor  of  that  day 
would  go  near  to  be  arraigned  as  a  pirate  in  our  own. 
There  could  be  little  doubt,  for  instance,  that  this  very 
ship's  crew,  though  no  unfavorable  specimens  of  the  nau 
tical  brotherhood,  had  been  guilty,  as  we  should  phrase 
it,  of  depredations  on  the  Spanish  commerce,  such  as 
would  have  perilled  all  their  necks  in  a  modern  court  of 
justice. 

But  the  sea,  in  those  old  times,  heaved,  swelled,  and 
foamed,  very  much  at  its  own  will,  or  subject  only  to  the 
tempestuous  wind,  with  hardly  any  attempts  at  regula 
tion  by  human  law.  The  buccaneer  on  the  wave  might 
relinquish  his  calling,  and  become  at  once,  if  he  chose,  a 
man  of  probity  and  piety  on  land ;  nor,  even  in  the  full 
career  of  his  reckless  life,  was  he  regarded  as  a  person 
age  with  whom  it  was  disreputable  to  traffic,  or  casually 
associate.  Thus,  the  Puritan  elders,  in  their  black  cloaks, 
starched  bands,  and  steeple-crowned  hats,  smiled  not 
unbenignantly  at  the  clamor  and  rude  deportment  of 
these  jolly  seafaring  men;  and  it  excited  neither  surprise 
nor  animadversion,  when  so  reputable  a  citizen  as  old 
Roger  Chillingworth,  the  physician,  was  seen  to  enter 
the  market-place,  in  close  and  familiar  talk  with  the 
commander  of  the  questionable  vessel. 

The  latter  was  by  far  the  most  showy  and  gallant 
figure,  so  far  as  apparel  went,  anywhere  to  be  seen 
among  the  multitude.  He  wore  a  profusion  of  ribbons 
on  his  garment,  and  gold-lace  on  his  hat,  which  was  also 
encircled  by  a  gold  chain,  and  surmounted  with  a  feather. 
There  was  a  sword  at  his  side,  and  a  sword-cut  on  liis 
forehead,  which,  by  the  arrangement  of  his  hair,  he 
seemed  anxious  rather  to  display  than  hide.  A  lands 
man  could  hardly  have  worn  this  garb  and  shown  this 
face,  and  worn  and  shown  them  both  with  such  a  galiiard 


THE   NEW   ENGLAND   HOLIDAY.  265 

air,  without  undergoing  stern  question  before  a  magis 
trate,  and  probably  incurring  fine  or  imprisonment,  or 
perhaps  an  exhibition  in  the  stocks.  As  regarded  the 
shipmaster,  however,  all  was  looked  upon  as  pertaining 
to  the  character,  as  to  a  fish  his  glistening  scales. 

After  parting  from  the  physician,  the  commander  of 
the  Bristol  ship  strolled  idly  through  the  market-place  ; 
until,  happening  to  approach  the  spot  where  Hester 
Prynne  was  standing,  he  appeared  to  recognize,  and  did 
not  hesitate  to  address  her.  As  was  usually  the  case 
wherever  Hester  stood,  a  small  vacant  area  —  a  sort  of 
magic  circle  —  had  formed  itself  about  her,  into  which, 
though  the  people  were  elbowing  one  another  at  a  little 
distance,  none  ventured,  or  felt  disposed  to  intrude.  It 
was  a  forcible  type  of  the  moral  solitude  in  which  the 
scarlet  letter  enveloped  its  fated  wearer ;  partly  by  her 
own  reserve,  and  partly  by  the  instinctive,  though  no 
longer  so  unkindly,  withdrawal  of  her  fellow-creatures. 
Now,  if  never  before,  it  answered  a  good  purpose,  by 
enabling  Hester  and  the  seaman  to  speak  together  with 
out  risk  of  being  overheard;  and  so  changed  was  Hester 
Prynne's  repute  before  the  public,  that  the  matron  in 
town  most  eminent  for  rigid  morality  could  not  have  held 
such  intercourse  with  less  result  of  scandal  than  herself. 

"  So,  mistress,"  said  the  mariner,  "  I  must  bid  the 
steward  make  ready  one  more  berth  than  you  bargained 
for !  No  fear  of  scurvy  or  ship-fever,  this  voyage ! 
What  with  the  ship's  surgeon  and  this  other  doctor,  our 
only  danger  will  be  from  drug  or  pill ;  more  by  token,  as 
there  is  a  lot  of  apothecary's  stuff  aboard,  which  I  tradod 
for  with  a  Spanish  vessel." 

"  What  mean  you  ?  "  inquired  Hester,  startled  more 
than  she  permitted  to  appear.  "  Have  you  another  pas 
senger  ?  " 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

"  Why,  know  you  not,"  cried  the  shipmaster,  "  that 
this  physician  here  —  Chillingworth,  he  calls  himself  — 
is  minded  to  try  my  cabin-fare  with  you  ?  Ay,  ay,  you 
must  have  known  it ;  for  he  tells  me  he  is  of  your  party, 
and  a  close  friend  to  the  gentleman  you  spoke  of,  —  he 
that  is  in  peril  from  these  sour  old  Puritan  rulers  !  " 

"  They  know  each  other  well,  indeed,"  replied  Hester, 
with  a  mien  of  calmness,  though  in  the  utmost  conster 
nation.  "They  have  long  dwelt  together." 

Nothing  further  passed  between  the  mariner  and  Hes 
ter  Prynne.  But,  at  that  instant,  she  beheld  old  Roger 
Chillingworth  himself,  standing  in  the  remotest  corner 
of  the  market-place,  and  smiling  on  her ;  a  smile  which 
—  across  the  wide  and  bustling  square,  and  through 
all  the  talk  and  laughter,  and  various  thoughts,  moods, 
and  interests  of  ^e  crowd  —  conveyed  secret  and  fearful 
meaning. 


XXII. 


THE  PROCESSION. 

Hester  Prynne  could  call  together  her 
thoughts,  and  consider  what  was  practicable  to 
be  done  in  this  new  and  startling  aspect  of  af 
fairs,  the  sound  of  military  music  was  heard  approaching 
along  a  contiguous  street.  It  denoted  the  advance  of 
the  procession  of  magistrates  and  citizens,  on  its  way 
towards  the  meeting-house ;  where,  in  compliance  with  a 
custom  thus  early  established,  and  ever  since  observed, 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  to  deliver  an  Election 
Sermon. 

Soon  the  head  of  the  procession  showed  itself,  with  a 
slow  and  stately  march,  turning  a  corner,  and  making  its 
way  across  the  market-place.  Eirst  came  the  music.  It 
comprised  a  variety  of  instruments,  perhaps  imperfectly 
adapted  to  one  another,  and  played  with  no  great  skill ; 
but  yet  attaining  the  great  object  for  which  the  harmony 
of  drum  and  clarion  addresses  itself  to  the  multitude,  — • 
that  of  imparting  a  higher  and  more  heroic  air  to  the 
scene  of  life  that  passes  before  the  eye.  Little  Pearl  at 
first  clapped  her  hands,  but  then  lost,  for  an  instant,  the 
restless  agitation  that  had  kept  her  in  a  continual  effer 
vescence  throughout,  the  morning ;  she  gazed  silently, 


268         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

and  seemed  to  be  borne  upward,  like  a  floating  sea-bird, 
on  the  long  heaves  and  swells  of  sound.  But  she  was 
brought  back  to  her  former  mood  by  the  shimmer  of  the 
sunshine  on  the  weapons  and  bright  armor  of  the  military 
company,  which  followed  after  the  music,  and  formed  the 
honorary  escort  of  the  procession.  This  body  of  soldiery 

—  which  still  sustains  a  corporate  existence,  and  marches 
down  from  past  ages  with  an  ancient  and  honorable  fame 

—  was  composed  of  no  mercenary  materials.     Its  ranks 
were  filled  with  gentlemen,  who   felt  the  stirrings   of 
martial  impulse,  and  sought  to  establish  a  kind  of  Col 
lege   of  Arms,  where,  as   in   an  association  of  Knights 
Templars,  they  might  learn  the  science,  and,  so  far  as 
peaceful  exercise  would  teach  them,  the  practices  of  war. 
The  high  estimation  then  placed  upon  the  military  char 
acter  might  be  seen  in  the  lofty  port  of  each  individual 
member   of  the   company.     Some   of  them,  indeed,   by 
their  services  in  the  Low  Countries  and  on  other  fields 
of  European  warfare,  had  fairly  won  their  title  to  assume 
the  name  and  pomp  of  soldiership.     The  entire  array, 
moreover,  clad   in  burnished   steel,  and  with  plumage 
nodding  over  their  bright  morions,  had  a  brilliancy  of 
effect  which  no  modern  display   can  aspire  to  equal. 

And  yet  the  men  of  civil  eminence,  who  came  imme 
diately  behind  the  military  escort,  were  better  worth  a 
thoughtful  observer's  eye.  Even  in  outward  demeanor, 
they  showed  a  stamp  of  majesty  that  made  the  warrior's 
haughty  stride  look  vulgar,  if  not  absurd.  It  was  an 
age  when  what  we  call  talent  had  far  less  consideration 
than  now,  but  the  massive  materials  which  produce  sta 
bility  and  dignity  of  character  a  great  deal  more.  The 
people  possessed,  by  hereditary  right,  the  quality  of  rev 
erence  ;  which,  in  their  descendants,  if  it  survive  at  all, 
exists  in  smaller  proportion,  and  with  a  vastly  diminished 


THE    PllOCESSION.  269 

force,  in  the  selection  and  estimate  of  public  men.  The 
change  may  be  for  good  or  ill,  and  is  partly,  perhaps,  for 
both.  In  that  old  day,  the  English  settler  on  these  rude 
shores  —  having  left  king,  nobles,  and  all  degrees  of 
awful  rank  behind,  while  still  the  faculty  and  necessity 
of  reverence  were  strong  in  him  -  -  bestowed  it  on  the 
white  hair  and  venerable  brow  of  age;  on  long-tried 
integrity ;  on  solid  wisdom  and  sad-colored  experience ; 
un  endowments  of  that  grave  and  weighty  order  which 
gives  the  idea  of  permanence,  and  comes  under  the  gen 
eral  definition  of  respectability.  These  primitive  statesmen, 
therefore,  —  Bradstreet,  Endicott,  Dudley,  Bellingham, 
and  their  compeers,  —  who  were  elevated  to  power  by 
the  early  choice  of  the  people,  seem  to  have  been  not 
often  brilliant,  but  distinguished  by  a  ponderous  sobriety, 
rather  than  activity  of  intellect.  They  had  fortitude  and 
self-reliance,  and,  in  time  of  difficulty  or  peril,  stood  up 
for  the  welfare  of  the  state  like  a  line  of  cliffs  against  a 
tempestuous  tide.  The  traits  of  character  here  indicated 
were  well  represented  in  the  square  cast  of  countenance 
and  large  physical  development  of  the  new  colonial  magis 
trates.  So  far  as  a  demeanor  of  natural  authority  was 
concerned,  the  mother  country  need  not  have  been 
ashamed  to  see  these  foremost  men  of  an  actual  democ 
racy  adopted  into  the  House  of  Peers,  or  made  the  Privy 
Council  of  the  sovereign. 

Next  in  order  to  the  magistrates  came  the  young  and 
eminently  distinguished  divine,  from  whose  lips  the  re 
ligious  discourse  of  the  anniversary  was  expected.  His 
was  the  profession,  at  that  era,  in  which  intellectual 
ability  displayed  itself  far  more  than  in  political  life ;  for 
—  leaving  a  higher  motive  out  of  the  question  —  it 
offered  inducements  powerful  enough,  in  the  almost  wor 
shipping  respect  of  the  community,  to  win  the  most  aspir- 


270  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

ing  ambition  into  its  service.  Even  political  power  —  as 
in  the  case  of  Increase  Mather  —  was  within  the  grasp 
of  a  successful  priest. 

It  was  the  observation  of  those  who  beheld  him  now, 
that  never,  since  Mr.  Dimmesdale  first  set  his  foot  on  the 
New  England  shore,  had  he  exhibited  such  energy  as 
was  seen  in  the  gait  and  air  with  which  he  kept  his  pace 
in  the  procession.  There  was  no  feebleness  of  step,  as 
at  other  times ;  his  frame  was  not  bent ;  nor  did  his 
hand  rest  ominously  upon  his  heart.  Yet,  if  the  clergy 
man  were  rightly  yiewed,  his  strength  seemed  not  of  the 
body.  It  might  be  spiritual,  and  imparted  to  him  by 
angelic  ministrations.  It  might  be  the  exhilaration  of 
that  potent  cordial,  which  is  distilled  only  in  the  furnace- 
glow  of  earnest  and  long-continued  thought.  Or,  per 
chance,  his  sensitive  temperament  was  invigorated  by 
the  loud  and  piercing  music,  that  swelled  heavenward, 
and  uplifted  him  on  its  ascending  wave.  Nevertheless,  so 
abstracted  was  his  look,  it  might  be  questioned  whether 
Mr.  Dimmesdale  even  heard  the  music.  There  was  his 
body,  moving  onward,  and  with  an  unaccustomed  force. 
But  where  was  his  mind?  Far  and  deep  in  its  own 
region,  busying  itself,  with  preternatural  activity,  to 
marshal  a  procession  of  stately  thoughts  that  were  soon 
to  issue  thence ;  and  so  he  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing, 
knew  nothing,  of  what  was  around  him  ;  but  the  spiritual 
element  took  up  the  feeble  frame,  and  carried  it  along, 
unconscious  of  the  burden,  and  converting  it  to  spirit 
like  itself.  Men  of  uncommon  intellect,  who  have  grown 
morbid,  possess  this  occasional  power  of  mighty  effort, 
into  which  they  throw  the  life  of  many  days,  and  then 
are  lifeless  for  as  many  more. 

Hester  Prynne,  gazing  steadfastly  at  the  clergyman, 
felt  a  dreary  influence  come  over  her,  but  wherefore  or 


THE    PROCESSION.  271 

whence  she  knew  not ;  unless  that  he  seemed  so  remote 
from  her  own  sphere,  and  utterly  beyond  her  reach. 
One  glance  of  recognition,  she  had  imagined,  must  needs 
pass  between  them.  She  thought  of  the  dim  forest,  with 
its  little  dell  of  solitude,  and  love,  and  anguish,  and  the 
mossy  tree-trunk,  where,  sitting  hand  in  hand,  they  had 
mingled  their  sad  and  passionate  talk  with  the  melan 
choly  murmur  of  the  brook.  How  deeply  had  they 
known  each  other  then !  And  was  this  the  man  ?  She 
hardly  knew  him  now !  He,  moving  proudly  past,  en 
veloped,  as  it  were,  in  the  rich  music,  with  the  procession 
of  majestic  and  venerable  fathers;  he,  so  unattainable 
in  his  worldly  position,  and  still  more  so  in  that  far 
vista  of  his  unsyrnpathizing  thoughts,  through  which  she 
now  beheld  him  !  Her  spirit  sank  with  the  idea  that  all 
must  have  been  a  delusion,  and  that,  vividly  as  she  had 
dreamed  it,  there  could  be  no  real  bond  betwixt  the 
clergyman  and  herself.  And  thus  much  of  woman  was 
there  in  Hester,  that  she  could  scarcely  forgive  him,  — 
least  of  all  now,  when  the  heavy  footstep  of  their  ap 
proaching  Eate  might  be  heard,  nearer,  nearer,  nearer ! 
—  for  being  able  '  so  completely  to  withdraw  himself 
from  their  mutual  world;  while  she  groped  darkly, 
and  stretched  forth  her  cold  hands,  and  found  him 
not. 

Pearl  either  saw  and  responded  to  her  mother's  feel 
ings,  or  herself  felt  the  remoteness  and  intangibility  that 
had  fallen  around  the  minister.  While  the  procession 
passed,  the  child  was  uneasy,  fluttering  up  and  down, 
like  a  bird  on  the  point  of  taking  flight.  When  the 
whole  had  gone  by,  she  looked  up  into  Hester's  face. 

"  Mother,"  said  she,  "  was  that  the  same  minister  that 
kissed  me  by  the  brook  ?  " 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  dear  little  Pearl ! "  whispered  her 


272  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

mother.  "  We  must  not  always  talk  in  the  market-place 
of  what  happens  to  us  in  the  forest." 

"  I  could  not  be  sure  that  it  was  he ;  so  strange  he 
looked,"  continued  the  child.  "Else  I  would  have  run 
to  him,  and  bid  him  kiss  me  now,  before  all  the  people ; 
even  as  he  did  yonder  among  the  dark  old  trees.  What 
would  the  minister  have  said,  mother  ?  Would  he  have 
clapped  his  hand  over  his  heart,  and  scowled  on  me,  and 
bid  me  be  gone  ?  " 

"  What  should  he  say,  Pearl,"  answered  Hester,  "  save 
that  it  was  no  time  to  kiss,  and  that  kisses  are  not  to  be 
given  in  the  market-place  ?  Well  for  thee,  foolish  child, 
that  thou  didst  not  speak  to  him  !  " 

Another  shade  of  the  same  sentiment,  in  reference 
to  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  was  expressed  by  a  person  whose 
eccentricities  —  or  insanity,  as  we  should  term  it  —  led 
her  to  do  what  few  of  the  townspeople  would  have  ven 
tured  on ;  to  begin  a  conversation  with  the  wearer  of 
the  scarlet  letter,  in  public.  It  was  Mistress  Hibbins, 
who,  arrayed  in  great  magnificence,  with  a  triple  ruff,  a 
broidered  stomacher,  a  gown  of  rich  velvet,  and  a  gold- 
headed  cane,  had  come  forth  to  see  the  procession.  As 
this  ancient  lady  had  the  renown  (which  subsequently 
cost  her  no  less  a  price  than  her  life)  of  being  a  principal 
actor  in  all  the  works  of  necromancy  that  were  continu 
ally  going  forward,  the  crowd  gave  way  before  her,  and 
seemed  to  fear  the  touch  of  her  garment,  as  if  it  carried 
the  plague  among  its  gorgeous  folds.  Seen  in  conjunc 
tion  with  Hester  Prynne,  —  kindly  as  so  many  now  felt 
towards  the  latter,  —  the  dread  inspired  by  Mistress 
Hibbins  was  doubled,  and  caused  a  general  movement 
from  that  part  of  the  market-place  in  which  the  two 
women  stood. 

"  Now,  what  mortal  imagination  could  conceive  it !  " 


THE    PROCESSION.  273 

whispered  the  old  lady,  confidentially,  to  Hester.  "  Yon 
der  divine  man !  That  saint  on  earth,  as  the  people  up 
hold  him  to  be,  and  as  —  I  must  needs  say  — he  really 
looks  !  Who,  now;  that  saw  him  pass  in  the  procession, 
would  think  how  little  while  it  is  since  he  went  forth 
out  of  his  study,  —  chewing  a  Hebrew  text  of  Scripture 
in  his  mouth,  I  warrant,  —  to  take  an  airing  in  the  for 
est  !  Aha !  we  know  what  that  means,  Hester  Prynne  ! 
But,  truly,  forsooth,  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  him  the 
same  man.  Many  a  church-member  saw  I,  walking  be 
hind  the  music,  that  has  danced  in  the  same  measure 
with  me,  when  Somebody  was  fiddler,  and,  it  might  be, 
an  Indian  powwow  or  a  Lapland  wizard  changing  hands 
with  us  !  That  is  but  a  trifle,  when  a  woman  knows  the 
world.  But  this  minister !  Couldst  thou  surely  tell, 
Hester,  whether  he  was  the  same  man  that  encountered 
thee  on  the  forest-path  ? " 

"Madam,  I  know  not  of  what  you  speak,"  answered 
Hester  Prynne,  feeling  Mistress  Hibbins  to  be  of  infirm 
mind;  yet  strangely  startled  and  awe-stricken  by  the 
confidence  with  which  she  affirmed  a  personal  connection 
between  so  many  persons  (herself  among  them)  and  the 
Evil  One.  "  It  is  not  for  me  to  talk  lightly  of  a  learned 
and  pious  minister  of  the  Word,  like  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale !  " 

"  Tie,  woman,  fie !  "  cried  the  old  lady,  shaking  her 
finger  at  Hester.  "  Dost  thou  think  I  have  been  to  the 
forest  so  many  times,  and  have  yet  no  skill  to  judge 
who  else  has  been  there  ?  Yea ;  though  no  leaf  of  the 
wild  garlands,  which  they  wore  while  they  danced,  be 
left  in  their  hair !  I  know  thee,  Hester ;  for  I  behold 
the  token.  We  may  all  see  it  in  the  sunshine ;  and  it 
glows  like  a  red  flame  in  the  dark.  Thou  wearest  it 
openly ;  so  there  need  be  no  question  about  that.  But 

12*  B 


274         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

this  minister!  Let  me  tell  thee,  in  thine  ear!  When 
the  Black  Man  sees  one  of  his  own  servants,  signed  and 
sealed,  so  shy  of  owning  to  the  bond  as  is  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  he  hath  a  way  of  ordering  matters  so 
that  the  mark  shall  be  disclosed  in  open  daylight  to  the 
eyes  of  all  the  world!  What  is  it  that  the  minister 
seeks  to  hide,  with  his  hand  always  over  his  heart  ?  Ha, 
Hester  Prynne  ! " 

"  What  is  it,  good  Mistress  Hibbins  ?  "  eagerly  asked 
little  Pearl.  "  Hast  thou  seen  it  ?  " 

"  No  matter,  darling ! "  responded  Mistress  Hibbins, 
making  Pearl  a  profound  reverence.  "  Thou  thyself  wilt 
see  it,  one  time  or  another.  They  say,  child,  thou  art 
of  the  lineage  of  the  Prince  of  the  Air !  Wilt  thou  ride 
with  me,  some  fine  night,  to  see  thy  father  ?  Then  thou 
shalt  know  wherefore  the  minister  keeps  his  hand  over 
his  heart ! " 

Laughing  so  shrilly  that  all  the  market-place  could 
hear  her,  the  weird  old  gentlewoman  took  her  depart 
ure. 

By  this  time  the  preliminary  prayer  had  been  offered 
in  the  meeting-house,  and  the  accents  of  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Dimmesdale  were  heard  commencing  his  discourse. 
An  irresistible  feeling  kept  Hester  near  the  spot.  As  the 
sacred  edifice  was  too  much  thronged  to  admit  another 
auditor,  she  took  up  her  position  close  beside  the  scaffold 
of  the  pillory.  It  was  in  sufficient  proximity  to  bring 
the  whole  sermon  to  her  ears,  in  the  shape  of  an  indis 
tinct,  but  varied,  murmur  and  flow  of  the  minister's  very 
peculiar  voice. 

This  vocal  organ  was  in  itself  a  rich  endowment ;  inso 
much  that  a  listener,  comprehending  nothing  of  the  lan 
guage  in  which  the  preacher  spoke,  might  still  have  been 
swayed  to  and  fro  by  the  mere  tone  and  cadence.  Like 


THE    PROCESSION.  275 

all  other  music,  it  breathed  passion  and  pathos,  and  emo 
tions  high  or  tender,  in  a  tongue  native  to  the  human 
heart,  wherever  educated.  Muffled  as  the  sound  was 
by  its  passage  through  the  church-walls,  Hester  Prynne 
listened  with  such  intentness,  and  sympathized  so  inti 
mately,  that  the  sermon  had  throughout  a  meaning  for 
her,  entirely  apart  from  its  indistinguishable  words. 
These,  perhaps,  if  more  distinctly  heard,  might  have  been 
only  a  grosser  medium,  and  have  clogged  the  spiritual 
sense.  Now  she  caught  the  low  undertone,  as  of  the 
wind  sinking  down  to  repose  itself ;  then  ascended  with 
it,  as  it  rose  through  progressive  gradations  of  sweetness 
and  power,  until  its  volume  seemed  to  envelop  her  with 
an  atmosphere  of  awe  and  solemn  grandeur.  And  yet, 
majestic  as  the  voice  sometimes  became,  there  was  for 
ever  in  it  an  essential  character  of  plaintiveness.  A  loud 
or  low  expression  of  anguish,  —  the  whisper,  or  the 
shriek,  as  it  might  be  conceived,  of  suffering  humanity, 
that  touched  a  sensibility  in  every  bosom !  At  times 
this  deep  strain  of  pathos  was  all  that  could  be  heard, 
and  scarcely  heard,  sighing  amid  a  desolate  silence.  But 
even  when  the  minister's  voice  grew  high  and  command 
ing,  —  when  it  gushed  irrepressibly  upward,  —  when  it 
assumed  its  utmost  breadth  and  power,  so  overfilling  the 
church  as  to  burst  its  way  through  the  solid  walls,  and 
diffuse  itself  in  the  open  air,  —  still,  if  the  auditor  listened 
intently,  and  for  the  purpose,  he  could  detect  the  same 
cry  of  pain.  What  was  it  ?  The  complaint  of  a  human 
heart,  sorrow-laden,  perchance  guilty,  telling  its  secret, 
whether  of  guilt  or  sorrow,  to  the  great  heart  of  mankind ; 
beseeching  its  sympathy  or  forgiveness,  —  at  every  mo 
ment,  —  in  each  accent,  —  and  never  in  vain !  It  was 
this  profound  and  continual  undertone  that  gave  the  cler 
gyman  his  most  appropriate  power. 


276  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

During  all  this  time,  Hester  stood,  statue-like,  at  tnc 
foot  of  the  scaffold.  If  the  minister's  voice  had  not  kept 
her  there,  there  would  nevertheless  have  been  an  inevita 
ble  magnetism  in  that  spot,  whence  she  dated  the  first 
hour  of  her  life  of  ignominy.  There  was  a  sense  within 
her,  —  too  ill-defined  to  be  made  a  thought,  but  weighing 
heavily  on  her  mind,  —  that  her  whole  orb  of  life,  both 
before  and  after,  was  connected  with  this  spot,  as  with 
the  one  point  that  gave  it  unity. 

Little  Pearl,  meanwhile,  had  quitted  her  mother's  side, 
and  was  playing  at  her  own  will  about  the  market-place. 
She  made  the  sombre  crowd  cheerful  by  her  erratic  and 
glistening  ray ;  even  as  a  bird  of  bright  plumage  illumi 
nates  a  whole  tree  of  dusky  foliage,  by  darting  to  and  fro, 
half  seen  and  half  concealed  amid  the  twilight  of  the  clus 
tering  leaves.  She  had  an  undulating,  but,  oftentimes,  a 
sharp  and  irregular  movement.  It  indicated  the  restless 
vivacity  of  her  spirit,  which  to-day  was  doubly  indefati 
gable  in  its  tiptoe  dance,  because  it  was  played  upon  and 
vibrated  with  her  mother's  disquietude.  Whenever  Pearl 
saw  anything  to  excite  her  ever-active  and  wandering 
curiosity,  she  flew  thitherward  and,  as  we  might  say, 
seized  upon  that  man  or  thing  as  her  own  property,  so 
far  as  she  desired  it ;  but  without  yielding  the  minutest 
degree  of  control  over  her  motions  in  requital.  The 
Puritans  looked  on,  and,  if  they  smiled,  were  none  the 
less  inclined  to  pronounce  the  child  a  demon  offspring, 
from  the  indescribable  charm  of  beauty  and  eccentricity 
that  shone  through  her  little  figure,  and  sparkled  with  its 
activity.  She  ran  and  looked  the  wild  Indian  in  the  face ; 
and  he  grew  conscious  of  a  nature  wilder  than  his  own. 
Thence,  with  native  audacity,  but  still  with  a  reserve  as 
characteristic,  she  flew  into  the  midst  of  a  group  of  mar 
iners,  the  swarthy-cheeked  wild  men  of  the  ocean,  as  the 


THE    PROCESSION.  277 

Indians  were  of  the  land ;  and  they  gazed  wonderingly 
and  admiringly  at  Pearl,  as  if  a  flake  of  the  sea-foam  had 
taken  the  shape  of  a  little  maid,  and  were  gifted  with  a 
soul  of  the  sea-fire,  that  flashes  beneath  the  prow  in  the 
night-time. 

One  of  these  seafaring  men  —  the  shipmaster,  indeed, 
who  had  spoken  to  Hester  Prynne  —  was  so  smitten  with 
Pearl's  aspect,  that  he  attempted  to  lay  hands  upon  her, 
with  purpose  to  snatch  a  kiss.  Finding  it  as  impossible 
to  touch  her  as  to  catch  a  humming-bird  in  the  air,  he 
took  from  his  hat  the  gold  chain  that  was  twisted  about 
it,  and  threw  it  to  the  child.  Pearl  immediately  twined 
it  around  her  neck  and  waist,  with  such  happy  skill,  that, 
once  seen  there,  it  became  a  part  of  her,  and  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  imagine  her  without  it. 

"  Thy  mother  is  yonder  woman  with  the  scarlet  letter/' 
said  the  seaman.  "  Wilt  thou  carry  her  a  message  from 
me?" 

"  If  the  message  pleases  me,  I  will,"  answered  Pearl. 

"  Then  tell  her,"  rejoined  he,  "  that  I  spake  again  with 
the  black -a-visaged,  hump-shouldered  old  doctor,  and  he 
engages  to  bring  his  friend,  the  gentleman  she  wots  of, 
aboard  with  him.  So  let  thy  mother  take  no  thought, 
save  for  herself  and  thee.  Wilt  thou  tell  her  this,  thou 
witch-baby  ? " 

"  Mistress  Hibbius  says  my  father  is  the  Prince  of  the 
Air ! "  cried  Pearl,  with  a  naughty  smile.  "  If  thou 
callest  me  that  ill  name,  I  shall  tell  him  of  thee ;  and  he 
will  chase  thy  ship  with  a  tempest !  " 

Pursuing  a  zigzag  course  across  the  market-place,  the 
child  returned  to  her  mother,  and  communicated  what 
the  mariner  had  said.  Hester's  strong,  calm,  steadfastly 
enduring  spirit  almost  sank,  at  last,  on  beholding  this 
dark  and  grim  countenance  of  an  inevitable  doom,  whicb 


278  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

—  at  the  moment  when  a  passage  seemed  to  open  for 
the  minister  and  herself  out  of  their  labyrinth  of  misery 

—  showed  itself,  with  an  unrelenting  smile,  right  in  the 
midst  of  their  path. 

With  her  mind  harassed  by  the  terrible  perplexity  in 
which  the  shipmaster's  intelligence  involved  her,  she  was 
also  subjected  to  another  trial.  There  were  many  peo 
ple  present,  from  the  country  round  about,  who  had 
often  heard  of  the  scarlet  letter,  and  to  whom  it  had 
been  made  terrific  by  a  hundred  false  or  exaggerated 
rumors,  but  who  -had  never  beheld  it  with  their  own 
bodily  eyes.  These,  after  exhausting  other  modes  of 
amusement,  now  thronged  about  Hester  Prynne  with 
rude  and  boorish  intrusiveness.  Unscrupulous  as  it  was, 
however,  it  could  not  bring  them  nearer  than  a  circuit 
of  several  yards.  At  that  distance  they  accordingly 
stood,  fixed  there  by  the  centrifugal  force  of  the  repug 
nance  which  the  mystic  symbol  inspired.  The  whole 
gang  of  sailors,  likewise,  observing  the  press  of  specta 
tors,  and  learning  the  purport  of  the  scarlet  letter,  came 
and  thrust  their  sunburnt  and  desperado-looking  faces 
into  the  ring.  Even  the  Indians  were  affected  by  a  sort 
of  cold  shadow  of  the  white  man's  curiosity,  and,  gliding 
through  the  crowd,  fastened  their  snake-like  black  eyes 
on  Hester's  bosom  ;  conceiving,  perhaps,  that  the  wearer 
of  this  brilliantly  embroidered  badge  must  needs  be  a 
personage  of  high  dignity  among  her  people.  Lastly 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town  (their  own  interest  in  this 
worn-out  subject  languidly  reviving  itself,  by  sympathy 
with  what  they  saw  others  feel)  lounged  idly  to  the  same 
quarter,  and  tormented  Hester  Prynne,  perhaps  more 
than  all  the  rest,  with  their  cool,  well-acquainted  gaze 
at  her  familiar  shame.  Hester  saw  and  recognized  the 
self-same  faces  of  that  group  of  matrons,  who  had  awaited 


THE    PROCESSION.  279 

her  forthcoming  from  the  prison-door,  seven  years  ago ; 
all  save  oner  the  youngest  and  only  compassionate  among 
them,  whose  burial-robe  she  had  since  made.  At  the 
final  hour,  when  she  was  so  soon  to  fling  aside  the  burn 
ing  letter,  it  had  strangely  become  the  centre  of  more 
remark  and  excitement,  and  was  thus  made  to  sear  her 
breast  more  painfully,  than  at  any  time  since  the  first 
day  she  put  it  on. 

While  Hester  stood  in  that  magic  circle  of  ignominy, 
where  the  cunning  cruelty  of  her  sentence  seemed  to 
have  fixed  her  forever,  the  admirable  preacher  was 
looking  down  from  the  sacred  pulpit  upon  an  audience 
whose  very  inmost  spirits  had  yielded  to  his  control. 
The  sainted  minister  in  the  church  !  The  woman  of  the 
scarlet  letter  in  the  market-place !  What  imagination 
would  have  been  irreverent  enough  to  surmise  that  the 
same  scorching  stigma  was  on  them  both  ! 


XXIII. 
THE  BEVELATION  OF  THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

|HE  eloquent  voice,  on  which  the  souls  of  the 
listening  audience  had  been  borne  aloft  as  on 

the  swelling  waves  of  the  sea,  at  length  came  to 

a  pause.  There  was  a  momentary  silence,  profound  as 
what  should  follow  the  utterance  of  oracles.  Then  en 
sued  a  murmur  and  half-hushed  tumult ;  as  if  the  audi 
tors,  released  from  the  high  spell  that  had  transported 
them  into  the  region  of  another's  mind,  were  returning 
into  themselves,  with  all  their  awe  and  wonder  still 
heavy  on  them.  In  a  moment  more,  the  crowd  began 
to  gush  forth  from  the  doors  of  the  church.  Now  that 
there  was  an  end,  they  needed  other  breath,  more  fit  to 
support  the  gross  and  earthly  life  into  which  they  re 
lapsed,  than  that  atmosphere  which  the  preacher  had 
converted  into  words  of  flame,  and  had  burdened  with 
the  rich  fragrance  of  his  thought. 

In  the  open  air  their  rapture  broke  into  speech.  The 
street  and  the  market-place  absolutely  babbled,  from  side 
to  side,  with  applauses  of  the  minister.  His  hearers 
could  not  rest  until  they  had  told  one  another  of  what 
each  knew  better  than  he  could  tell  or  hear.  According 
to  their  united  testimony,  never  had  man  spoken  in  so 


THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  SCARLET  LETTER.      281 

wise,  so  high,  and  so  holy  a  spirit,  as  he  that  spake  this 
day ;  nor  had  inspiration  ever  breathed  through  mortal 
lips  more  evidently  than  it  did  through  his.  Its  influ 
ence  could  be  seen,  as  it  were,  descending  upon  him, 
and  possessing  him,  and  continually  lifting  him  out  of 
the  written  discourse  that  lay  before  him,  and  filling  him 
with  ideas  that  must  have  been  as  marvellous  to  himself 
as  to  his  audience.  His  subject,  it  appeared,  had  been 
the  relation  between  the  Deity  and  the  communities  of 
mankind,  with  a  special  reference  to  the  New  England 
which  they  were  here  planting  in  the  wilderness.  And, 
as  he  drew  towards  the  close,  a  spirit  as  of  prophecy 
had  come  upon  him,  constraining  him  to  its  purpose  as 
mightily  as  the  old  prophets  of  Israel  were  constrained ; 
only  with  this  difference,  that,  whereas  the  Jewish  seers 
had  denounced  judgments  and  ruin  on  their  country,  it 
was  his  mission  to  foretell  a  high  and  glorious  destiny 
for  the  newly  gathered  people  of  the  Lord.  But,  through 
out  it  all,  and  through  the  whole  discourse,  there  had 
been  a  certain  deep,  sad  undertone  of  pathos,  which 
could  not  be  interpreted  otherwise  than  as  the  natural 
regret  of  one  soon  to  pass  away.  Yes ;  their  minister 
whom  they  so  loved  —  and  who  so  loved  them  all,  that 
he  could  not  depart  heavenward  without  a  sigh  —  had 
the  foreboding  of  untimely  death  upon  him,  and  would 
soon  leave  them  in  their  tears  !  This  idea  of  his  transi 
tory  stay  on  earth  gave  the  last  emphasis  to  the  effect 
which  the  preacher  had  produced ;  it  was  as  if  an  angel, 
in  his  passage  to  the  skies,  had  shaken  his  bright  wings 
over  the  people  for  an  instant,  —  at  once  a  shadow  and 
a  splendor,  —  and  had  shed  down  a  shower  of  golden 
truths  upon  them. 

Thus,  there  had  come  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale  —  as  to  most  men,  in  their  various  spheres,  though 


282         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

seldom  recognized  until  they  see  it  far  behind  them  — 
an  epoch  of  life  more  brilliant  and  full  of  triumph  than 
any  previous  one,  or  than  any  which  could  hereafter  be. 
He  stood,,  at  this  moment,,  on  the  very  proudest  emi 
nence  of  superiority,  to  which  the  gifts  of  intellect,  rich 
lore,  prevailing  eloquence,  and  a  reputation  of  whitest 
sanctity,  could  exalt  a  clergyman  in  New  England's  ear 
liest  days,  when  the  professional  character  was  of  itself 
a  lofty  pedestal.  Such  was  the  position  which  the  min 
ister  occupied,  as  he  bowed  his  head  forward  on  the 
cushions  of  the  pulpit,  at  the  close  of  his  Election  Ser 
mon.  Meanwhile  Hester  Prynne  was  standing  beside 
the  scaffold  of  the  pillory,  with  the  scarlet  letter  still 
burning  on  her  breast ! 

Now  was  heard  again  the  clangor  of  the  music,  and 
the  measured  tramp  of  the  military  escort,  issuing  from 
the  church-door.  The  procession  was  to  be  marshalled 
thence  to  the  town-hall,  where  a  solemn  banquet  would 
complete  the  ceremonies  of  the  day. 

Once  more,  therefore,  the  train  of  venerable  and  ma 
jestic  fathers  was  seen  moving  through  a  broad  pathway 
of  the  people,  who  drew  back  reverently,  on  either  side, 
as  the  Governor  and  magistrates,  the  old  and  wise  men, 
the  holy  ministers,  and  all  that  were  eminent  and  re 
nowned,  advanced  into  the  midst  of  them.  When  they 
were  fairly  in  the  market-place,  their  presence  was  greeted 
by  a  shout.  This  —  though  doubtless  it  might  acquire 
additional  force  and  volume  from  the  childlike  loyalty 
which  the  age  awarded  to  its  rulers  —  was  felt  to  be  an 
irrepressible  outburst  of  enthusiasm  kindled  in  the  audi 
tors  by  that  high  strain  of  eloquence  which  was  yet 
reverberating  in  their  ears.  Each  felt  the  impulse  in 
himself,  and,  in  the  same  breath,  caught  it  from  his  neigh 
bor.  Within  the  church,  it  had  hardly  been  kept  down ; 


THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  SCARLET  LETTER.      283 

beneath  the  sky,  it  pealed  upward  to  the  zenith.  There 
were  human  beings  enough,  and  enough  of  highly  wrought 
and  symphonious  feeling,  to  produce  that  more  impres 
sive  sound  than  the  organ  tones  of  the  blast,  or  the 
thunder,  or  the  roar  of  the  sea ;  even  that  mighty  swell 
of  many  voices,  blended  into  one  great  voice  by  the  uni 
versal  impulse  which  makes  likewise  one  vast  heart  out  of 
the  many.  Never,  from  the  soil  of  New  England,  had 
gone  up  such  a  shout !  Never,  on  New  England  soil, 
had  stood  the  man  so  honored  by  his  mortal  brethren  as 
the  preacher ! 

How  fared  it  with  him  then?  Were  there  not  the 
brilliant  particles  of  a  halo  in  the  air  about  his  head? 
So  etherealized  by  spirit  as  he  was,  and  so  apotheosized 
by  worshipping  admirers,  did  his  footsteps,  in  the  proces 
sion,  really  tread  upon  the  dust  of  earth  ? 

As  the  ranks  of  military  men  and  civil  fathers  moved 
onward,  all  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  point  where  the 
minister  was  seen  to  approach  among  them.  The  shout 
died  into  a  murmur,  as  one  portion  of  the  crowd  after 
another  obtained  a  glimpse  of  him.  How  feeble  and 
pale  he  looked,  amid  all  his  triumph  !  The  energy  —  or 
say,  rather,  the  inspiration  which  had  held  him  up,  until 
he  should  have  delivered  the  sacred  message  that  brought 
its  own  strength  along  with  it  from  heaven  —  was  with 
drawn,  now  that  it  had  so  faithfully  performed  its  office. 
The  glow,  which  they  had  just  before  beheld  burning  on 
his  cheek,  was  extinguished,  like  a  flame  that  sinks  down 
hopelessly  among  the  late-decaying  embers.  It  seemed 
hardly  the  face  of  a  man  alive,  with  such  a  deathlike 
hue  ;  it  was  hardly  a  man  with  life  in  him,  that  tottered 
on  his  path  so  nervelessly,  yet  tottered,  and  did  not  fall ! 

One  of  his  clerical  brethren,  —  it  was  the  venerable 
John  Wilson,  —  observing  the  state  in  which  Mr.  Dim 


284         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

mesdale  was  left  by  the  retiring  wave  of  intellect  and 
sensibility,  stepped  forward  hastily  to  offer  his  support. 
The  minister  tremulously,  but  decidedly,  repelled  the  old 
man's  arm.  He  still  walked  onward,  if  that  movement 
could  be  so  described,  which  rather  resembled  the  waver 
ing  effort  of  an  infant,  with  its  mother's  arms  in  view, 
outstretched  to  tempt  him  forward.  And  now,  almost 
imperceptible  as  were  the  latter  steps  of  his  progress, 
he  had  come  opposite  the  well-remembered  and  weather- 
darkened  scaffold,  where,  long  since,  with  all  that  dreary 
lapse  of  time  between,  Hester  Prynne  had  encountered 
the  world's  ignominious  stare.  There  stood  Hester, 
holding  little  Pearl  by  the  hand!  And  there  was  the 
scarlet  letter  on  her  breast !  The  minister  here  made  a 
pause ;  although  the  music  still  played  the  stately  and 
rejoicing  march  to  which  the  procession  moved.  It 
summoned  him  onward,  —  onward  to  the  festival !  —  but 
here  he  made  a  pause. 

Bellingham,  for  the  last  few  moments,  had  kept  an 
anxious  eye  upon  him.  He  now  left  his  own  place  in 
the  procession,  and  advanced  to  give  assistance  ;  judging, 
from  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  aspect,  that  he  must  otherwise 
inevitably  fall.  But  there  was  something  in  the  latter' s 
expression  that  warned  back  the  magistrate,  although  a 
man  not  readily  obeying  the  vague  intimations  that  pass 
from  one  spirit  to  another.  The  crowd,  meanwhile, 
looked  on  with  awe  and  wonder.  This  earthly  faintness 
was,  in  their  view,  only  another  phase  of  the  minister's 
celestial  strength ;  nor  would  it  have  seemed  a  miracle 
too  high  to  be  wrought  for  one  so  holy,  had  he  ascended 
before  their  eyes,  waxing  dimmer  and  brighter,  and 
fading  at  last  into  the  light  of  heaven. 

He  turned  towards  the  scaffold,  and  stretched  forth  his 


THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  SCARLET  LETTER.     285 

"  Hester,"  said  he,  ' f  come  hither  !  Come,  my  little 
Pearl ! " 

It  was  a  ghastly  look  with  which  he  regarded  them ; 
but  there  was  something  at  once  tender  and  strangely 
triumphant  in  it.  The  child,  with  the  bird-like  motion 
which  was  one  of  her  characteristics,  flew  to  him,  and 
clasped  her  arms  about  his  knees.  Hester  Prynne  — 
slowly,  as  if  impelled  by  inevitable  fate,  and  against  her 
strongest  will  —  likewise  drew  near,  but  paused  before 
she  reached  him.  At  this  instant,  old  Roger  Chilling- 
worth  thrust  himself  through  the  crowd,  —  or,  perhaps, 
so  dark,  disturbed,  and  evil,  was  his  look,  he  rose  up  out 
of  some  nether  region,  —  to  snatch  back  his  victim  from 
what  he  sought  to  do !  Be  that  as  it  might,  the  old  man 
rushed  forward,  and  caught  the  minister  by  the  arm. 

"  Madman,  hold !  what  is  your  purpose  ?  "  whispered 
he.  "  Wav*e  back  that  woman  !  Cast  off  this  child ! 
All  shall  be  well !  Do  not  blacken  your  fame,  and 
perish  in  dishonor !  I  can  yet  save  you  !  Would  you 
bring  infamy  on  your  sacred  profession  ?  " 

"  Ha,  tempter !  Me  thinks  thou  art  too  late !  "  an 
swered  the  minister,  encountering  his  eye,  fearfully,  but 
firmly.  "  Thy  power  is  not  what  it  was  !  With  God's 
help,  I  shall  escape  thee  now  !  " 

He  again  extended  his  hand  to  the  woman  of  the  scarlet 
letter. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  cried  he,  with  a  piercing  earnest 
ness,  "  in  the  name  of  Him,  so  terrible  and  so  merciful, 
who  gives  me  grace,  at  this  last  moment,  to  do  what  — 
for  my  own  heavy  sin  and  miserable  agony  —  I  withheld 
myself  from  doing  seven  years  ago,  come  hither  now,  and 
twine  thy  strength  about  me !  Thy  strength,  Hester ; 
but  let  it  be  guided  by  the  will  which  God  hath  granted 
me  !  This  wretched  and  wronged  old  man  is  opposing 


286          THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

it  with  all  his  might !  —  with  all  his  own  might,  and  the 
fiend's  !  Come,  Hester,  come  !  Support  me  up  yonder 
scaffold  !  " 

The  crowd  was  in  a  tumult.  The  men  of  rank  and 
dignity,  who  stood  more  immediately  around  the  clergy 
man,  were  so  taken  by  surprise,  and  so  perplexed  as  to 
the  purport  of  what  they  saw,  —  unable  to  receive  the 
explanation  which  most  readily  presented  itself,  or  to 
imagine  any  other,  —  that  they  remained  silent  and 
inactive  spectators  of  the  judgment  which  Providence 
seemed  about  to  work.  They  beheld  the  minister,  lean 
ing  on  Hester's  shoulder,  and  supported  by  her  arm 
around  him,  approach  the  scaffold,  and  ascend  its  steps  ; 
while  still  the  little  hand  of  the  sin-born  child  was 
clasped  in  his.  Old  Roger  Chillingworth  followed,  as 
one  intimately  connected  with  the  drama  of  guilt  and 
sorrow  in  which  they  had  all  been  actors,  and  well  enti 
tled,  therefore,  to  be  present  at  its  closing  scene. 

"  Hadst  thou  sought  the  whole  earth  over,"  said  he, 
looking  darkly  at  the  clergyman,  "  there  was  no  one  place 
so  secret,  —  no  high  place  nor  lowly  place,  where  thou 
couldst  have  escaped  me,  —  save  on  this  very  scaffold  !  " 

"  Thanks  be  to  Him  who  hath  led  me  hither ! "  an 
swered  the  minister. 

Yet  he  trembled,  and  turned  to  Hester  with  an  ex 
pression  of  doubt  and  anxiety  in  his  eyes,  not  the  less 
evidently  betiayed,  that  there  was  a  feeble  smile  upon 
his  lips. 

"  Is  not  this  better,"  murmured  he,  "  than  what  we 
dreamed  of  in  the  forest  ?  " 

"  I  know  not !  I  know  not !  "  she  hurriedly  replied. 
"Better?  Yea;  so  we  may  both  die,  and  little  Pearl 
die  with  us  !  " 

"  For  thee  and  Pearl,  be  it  as  God  shall  order,"  said 


THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  SCARLET  LETTER.      287 

the  minister ;  "  and  God  is  merciful !  Let  me  now  do 
the  will  which  he  hath  made  plain  before  my  sight. 
For,  Hester,  I  am  a  dying  man.  So  let  me  make  haste 
to  take  my  shame  upon  me  !  " 

Partly  supported  by  Hester  Prynne,  and  holding  one 
hand  of  little  Pearl's,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
turned  to  the  dignified  and  venerable  rulers ;  to  the  holy 
ministers,  who  were  his  brethren ;  to  the  people,  whose 
great  heart  was  thoroughly  appalled,  yet  overflowing 
with  tearful  sympathy,  as  knowing  that  some  deep  life- 
matter  —  which,  if  full  of  sin,  was  full  of  anguish  and 
repentance  likewise  —  was  now  to  be  laid  open  to  them. 
The  sun,  but  little  past  its  meridian,  shone  down  upon  the 
clergyman,  and  gave  a  distinctness  to  his  figure,  as  he 
stood  out  from  all  the  earth,  to  put  in  his  plea  of  guilty 
at  the  bar  of  Eternal  Justice. 

"People  of  New  England  !  "  cried  he,  with  a  voice 
that  rose  over  them,  high,  solemn,  and  majestic,  —  yet 
had  always  a  tremor  through  it,  and  sometimes  a  shriek, 
struggling  up  out  of  a  fathomless  depth  of  remorse  and 
woe, — "ye,  that  have  loved  me! — ye,  that  have 
deemed  me  holy !  —  behold  me  here,  the  one  sinner  of 
the  world !  At  last !  —  at  last !  —  I  stand  upon  the 
spot  where,  seven  years  since,  I  should  have  stood; 
here,  with  this  woman,  whose  arm,  more  than  the  little 
strength  wherewith  I  have  crept  hitherward,  sustains 
me,  at  this  dreadful  moment,  from  grovelling  down  upon 
my  face !  Lo,  the  scarlet  letter  whLli  Hester  wears ! 
Ye  have  all  shuddered  at  it !  Wherever  her  walk  hath 
been,  —  wherever,  so  miserably  burdened,  she  may  have 
hoped  to  find  repose,  —  it  hath  cast  a  lurid  gleam  of 
awe  and  horrible  repugnance  round  about  her.  But 
there  stood  one  in  the  midst  of  you,  at  whose  brand  of 
sin  and  infamy  ye  have  not  shuddered !  " 


288  THE    SCAELET    LETTEE. 

It  seemed,  at  this  point,  as  if  the  minister  must 
leave  the  remainder  of  his  secret  undisclosed.  But  he 
fought  back  the  bodily  weakness,  —  and,  still  more,  the 
faintness  of  heart,  —  that  was  striving  for  the  mastery 
with  him.  He  threw  off  all  assistance,  and  stepped  pas 
sionately  forward  a  pace  before  the  woman  and  the  child. 

"  It  was  on  him  ! "  he  continued,  with  a  kind  of 
fierceness ;  so  determined  was  he  to  speak  out  the 
whole.  "  God's  eye  beheld  it !  The  angels  were  for 
ever  pointing  at  it !  The  Devil  knew  it  well,  and  fretted 
it  continually  with  the  touch  of  his  burning  finger !  But 
he 'hid  it  cunningly  from  men,  and  walked  among  you 
with  the  mien  of  a  spirit,  mournful,  because  so  pure  in  a 
sinful  world  !  —  and  sad,  because  he  missed  his  heavenly 
kindred  !  Now,  at  the  death-hour,  he  stands  up  before 
you !  He  bids  you  look  again  at  Hester's  scarlet  letter ! 
He  tells  you,  that,  with  all  its  mysterious  horror,  it  is 
but  the  shadow  of  what  he  bears  on  his  own  breast,  and 
that  even  this,  his  own  red  stigma,  is  no  more  than  the 
type  of  what  has  seared  his  inmost  heart !  Stand  any 
here  that  question  God's  judgment  on  a  sinner?  Be 
hold  !  Behold  a  dreadful  witness  of  it ! " 

With  a  convulsive  motion,  he  tore  away  the  minis 
terial  band  from  before  his  breast.  It  was  revealed  ! 
But  it  were  irreverent  to  describe  that  revelation.  For 
an  instant,  the  gaze  of  the  horror-stricken  multitude  was 
concentred  on  the  ghastly  miracle;  while  the  minister 
stood,  with  a  flush  of  triumph  in  his  face,  as  one  who, 
in  the  crisis  of  acutest  pain,  had  won  a  victory.  Then, 
down  he  sank  upon  the  scaffold !  Hester  partly  raised 
him,  and  supported  his  head  against  her  bosom.  Old 
Roger  Chillingworth  knelt  down  beside  him,  with  a 
blank,  dull  countenance,  out  of  which  the  life  seemed  to 
have  departed. 


THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  SCARLET  LETTER.     289 

"  Thou  hast  escaped  me  ! "  he  repeated  more  than 
once.  "  Thou  hast  escaped  me  !  " 

"  May  God  forgive  thee !  "  said  the  minister.  "  Thou, 
too,  hast  deeply  sinned !  " 

He  withdrew  his  dying  eyes  from  the  old  man,  and 
fixed  them  on  the  woman  and  the  child. 

"  My  little  Pearl,"  said  he,  feebly,  —  and  there  was  a 
sweet  and  gentle  smile  over  his  face,  as  of  a  spirit  sink 
ing  into  deep  repose ;  nay,  now  that  the  burden  was 
removed,  it  seemed  almost  as  if  he  would  be  sportive 
with  the  child,  —  "  dear  little  Pearl,  wilt  thou  kiss  me 
now  ?  Thou  wouldst  not,  yonder,  in  the  forest !  But 
now  thou  wilt  ?  " 

Pearl  kissed  his  lips.  A  spell  was  broken.  The  great 
scene  of  grief,  in  which  the  wild  infant  bore  a  part,  had 
developed  all  her  sympathies ;  and  as  her  tears  fell  upon 
her  father's  cheek,  they  were  the  pledge  that  she  would 
grow  up  amid  human  joy  and  sorrow,  nor  forever  do  bat 
tle  with  the  world,  but  be  a  woman  in  it.  Towards  her 
mother,  too,  Pearl's  errand  as  a  messenger  of  anguish 
was  all  fulfilled. 

"  Hester,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  farewell !  " 

"  Shall  we  not  meet  again  ?  "  whispered  she,  bending 
her  face  down  close  to  his.  "  Shall  we  not  spend  our 
immortal  life  together?  Surely,  surely,  we  have  ran 
somed  one  another,  with  all  this  woe !  Thou  lookest  far 
into  eternity,  with  those  bright  dying  eyes !  Then  tell 
me  what  thou  seest  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Hester,  hush ! "  said  he,  with  tremulous  so 
lemnity.  "  The  law  we  broke !  — the  sin  here  so  awfully 
revealed  !  —  let  these  alone  be  in  thy  thoughts  !  I  fear  t 
I  fear !  It  may  be,  that,  when  we  forgot  our  God,  — 
when  we  violated  our  reverence  each  for  the  other's  soul, 
—  it  was  thenceforth  vain  to  hope  that  we  could  meet 
13  8 


290  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

hereafter,  in  an  everlasting  and  pure  reunion.  God  knows ; 
and  He  is  merciful !  He  hath  proved  his  mercy,  most  of 
all,  in  my  afflictions.  By  giving  me  this  burning  torture 
to  bear  upon  my  breast !  By  sending  yonder  dark  and 
terrible  old  man,  to  keep  the  torture  always  at  red-heat ! 
By  bringing  me  hither,  to  die  this  death  of  triumphant 
ignominy  before  the  people  !  Had  either  of  these  agonies 
been  wanting,  I  had  been  lost  forever !  Praised  be  his 
name  !  His  will  be  done  !  Farewell !  " 

That  final  word  came  forth  with  the  minister's  expiring 
breath.  The  multitude,  silent  till  then,  broke  out  in  a 
strange,  deep  voice  of  awe  and  wonder,  which  could  not 
as  yet  find  utterance,  save  in  this  murmur  that  rolled  so 
heavily  after  the  departed  spirit. 


xxrv. 

CONCLUSION. 

|FTER  many  days,  when  time  sufficed  for  the 
people  to  arrange  their  thoughts  in  reference  to 

the  foregoing  scene,  there  was  more  than  one 

account  of  what  had  been  witnessed  on  the  scaffold. 

Most  of  the  spectators  testified  to  having  seen,  on  the 
breast  of  the  unhappy  minister,  a  SCARLET  LETTER  —  the 
very  semblance  of  that  worn  by  Hester  Prynne  —  im 
printed  in  the  flesh.  As  regarded  its  origin,  there  were 
various  explanations,  all  of  which  must  necessarily  have 
been  conjectural.  Some  affirmed  that  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  on  the  very  day  when  Hester  Prynne  first 
wore  her  ignominious  badge,  had  begun  a  course  of  pen 
ance,  —  which  he  afterwards,  in  so  many  futile  methods, 
followed  out,  —  by  inflicting  a  hideous  torture  on  him 
self.  Others  contended  that  the  stigma  had  not  been 
produced  until  a  long  time  subsequent,  when  old  Roger 
Chillingworth,  being  a  potent  necromancer,  had  caused 
it  to  appear,  through  the  agency  of  magic  and  poisonous 
drugs.  Others,  again,  —  and  those  best  able  to  appre 
ciate  the  minister's  peculiar  sensibility,  and  the  wonder 
ful  operation  of  his  spirit  upon  the  body,  —  whispered 
their  belief,  that  the  awful  symbol  was  the  effect  of  the 


292         THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 

ever-active  tooth  of  remorse,  gnawing  from  the  inmost 
heart  outwardly,  and  at  last  manifesting  Heaven's  dread 
ful  judgment  by  the  visible  presence  of  the  letter.  The 
reader  may  choose  among  these  theories.  We  have 
thrown  all  the  light  we  could  acquire  upon  the  portent, 
and  would  gladly,  now  that  it  has  done  its  office,  erase 
its  deep  print  out  of  our  own  brain ;  where  long  medita 
tion  has  fixed  it  in  very  undesirable  distinctness. 

It  is  singular,  nevertheless,  that  certain  persons,  who 
were  spectators  of  the  whole  scene,  and  professed  never 
once  to  have  removed  their  eyes  from  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  denied  that  there  was  any  mark  whatever 
on  his  breast,  more  than  on  a  new-born  infant's.  Neither, 
by  their  report,  had  his  dying  words  acknowledged,  nor 
even  remotely  implied,  any,  the  slightest  connection,  on 
his  part,  with  the  guilt  for  which  Hester  Prynne  had  so 
long  worn  the  scarlet  letter.  According  to  these  highly 
respectable  witnesses,  the  minister,  conscious  that  he  was 
dying,  —  conscious,  also,  that  the  reverence  of  the  mul 
titude  placed  him  already  among  saints  and  angels,— 
had  desired,  by  yielding  up  his  breath  in  the  arms  of  that 
fallen  woman,  to  express  to  the  world  how  utterly  nuga 
tory  is  the  choicest  of  man's  own  righteousness.  After 
exhausting  life  in  his  eiforts  for  mankind's  spiritual  good, 
he  had  made  the  manner  of  his  death  a  parable,  in  order 
to  impress  on  his  admirers  the  mighty  and  mournful  les 
son,  that,  in  the  view  of  Infinite  Purity,  we  are  sinners 
all  alike.  It  was  to  teach  them,  that  the  holiest  among 
us  has  but  attained  so  far  above  his  fellows  as  to  discern 
more  clearly  the  Mercy  which  looks  down,  and  repudiate 
more  utterly  the  phantom  of  human  merit,  which  would 
look  aspiringly  upward.  Without  disputing  a  truth  so 
momentous,  we  must  be  allowed  to  consider  this  version 
of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  story  as  only  an  instance  of  that 


CONCLUSION.  293 

stubborn  fidelity  with  which  a  man's  friends  —  and  espe 
cially  a  clergyman's  —  will  sometimes  uphold  his  charac 
ter,  when  proofs,  clear  as  the  mid-day  sunshine  on  the 
scarlet  letter,  establish  him  a  false  and  sin-stained  crea 
ture  of  the  dust. 

The  authority  which  we  have  chiefly  followed,  —  a 
manuscript  of  old  date,  drawn  up  from  the  verbal  testi 
mony  of  individuals,  some  of  whom  had  known  Hester 
Prynne,  while  others  had  heard  the  tale  from  contempo 
rary  witnesses,  —  fully  confirms  the  view  taken  in  the 
foregoing  pages.  Among  many  morals  which  press  upon 
us  from  the  poor  minister's  miserable  experience,  we  put 
only  this  into  a  sentence:  —  "Be  true!  Be  true!  Be 
true  !  Show  freely  to  the  world,  if  not  your  worst,  yet 
some  trait  whereby  the  worst  may  be  inferred  !  " 

Nothing  was  more  remarkable  than  the  change  which 
took  place,  almost  immediately  after  Mr.  Dimmesdale's 
death,  in  the  appearance  and  demeanor  of  the  old  man 
known  as  Roger  Chillingworth.  All  his  strength  and 
energy  —  all  his  vital  and  intellectual  force  —  seemed  at 
once  to  desert  him ;  insomuch  that  he  positively  withered 
up,  shrivelled  away,  and  almost  vanished  from  mortal 
sight,  like  an  uprooted  weed  that  lies  wilting  in  the  sun. 
This  unhappy  man  had  made  the  very  principle  of  his 
life  to  consist  in  the  pursuit  and  systematic  exercise  of 
revenge ;  and  when,  by  its  completest  triumph  and  con 
summation,  that  evil  principle  was  left  with  no  further 
material  to  support  it,  when,  in  short,  there  was  no 
more  Devil's  work  on  earth  for  him  to  do,  it  only  remained 
for  the  unhumanized  mortal  to  betake  himself  whither 
his  Master  would  find  him  tasks  enough,  and  pay  him 
his  wages  duly.  But,  to  all  these  shadowy  beings,  so 
long  our  near  acquaintances,  —  as  well  Roger  Chilling- 
worth  as  his  companions,  —  we  would  fain  be  merciful. 


294  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

It  is  a  curious  subject  of  observation  and  inquiry,  whether 
hatred  and  love  be  not  the  same  thing  at  bottom.  Each, 
in  its  utmost  development,  supposes  a  high  degree  of 
intimacy  and  heart -knowledge ;  each  renders  one  indi 
vidual  dependent  for  the  food  of  his  affections  and  spirit 
ual  life  upon  another ;  each  leaves  the  passionate  lover, 
or  the  no  less  passionate  hater,  forlorn  and  desolate  by 
the  withdrawal  of  his  subject.  Philosophically  consid 
ered,  therefore,  the  two  passions  seem  essentially  the 
same,  except  that  one  happens  to  be  seen  in  a  celestial 
radiance,  and  the  other  in  a  dusky  and  lurid  glow.  In 
the  spiritual  world,  the  old  physician  and  the  minister 
—  mutual  victims  as  they  have  been  —  may,  unawares, 
have  found  their  earthly  stock  of  hatred  and  antipathy 
transmuted  into  golden  love. 

Leaving  this  discussion  apart,  we  have  a  matter  of 
business  to  communicate  to  the  reader.  At  old  Roger 
Chillingworth's  decease,  (which  took  place  within  the 
year,)  and  by  his  last  will  and  testament,  of  which  Gov 
ernor  Bellingham  and  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  were 
executors,  he  bequeathed  a  very  considerable  amount  of 
property,  both  here  and  in  England,  to  little  Pearl,  the 
daughter  of  Hester  Prynne. 

So  Pearl  —  the  elf-child,  —  the  demon  offspring,  as 
some  people,  up  to  that  epoch,  persisted  in  considering 
her,  —  became  the  richest  heiress  of  her  day,  in  the  New 
World.  Not  improbably,  this  circumstance  wrought  a 
very  material  change  in  the  public  estimation ;  and,  had 
the  mother  and  child  remained  here,  little  Pearl,  at  a 
marriageable  period  of  life,  might  have  mingled  her  wild 
blood  with  the  lineage  of  the  devoutest  Puritan  among 
them  all.  But,  in  no  long  time  after  the  physician's 
death,  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter  disappeared,  and 
Pearl  along  with  her.  Eor  many  years,  though  a  vague 


CONCLUSION.  295 

report  would  now  and  then  find  its  way  across  the  sea, 

—  like  a  shapeless  piece  of  drift-wood  tost  ashore,  with 
the  initials  of  a  name  upon  it,  —  yet  no  tidings  of  them 
unquestionably  authentic  were  received.     The   story  of 
the  scarlet  letter  grew  into  a  legend.     Its  spell,  however, 
was  still  potent,  and  kept  the  scaffold  awful  where  the 
poor  minister  had  died,  and  likewise  the  cottage  by  the 
sea-shore,  where  Hester  Prynne  had  dwelt.     Near  this 
latter  spot,  one  afternoon,  some  children  were  at  play, 
when  they  beheld  a  tall  woman,  in  a  gray  robe,  approach 
the  cottage-door.     In  all  those  years  it  had  never  once 
been  opened ;  but  either  she  unlocked  it,  or  the  decaying 
wood  and  iron  yielded  to  her  hand,  or  she  glided  shadow- 
like  through   these   impediments,  —  and,  at   all  events, 
went  in. 

On  the  threshold  she  paused,  —  turned  partly  round, 

—  for,  perchance,  the  idea  of  entering  all  alone,  and  all 
so  changed,  the  home  of  so  intense  a  former  life,  was 
more  dreary  and  desolate  than  even  she  could  bear.    But 
her  hesitation  was   only   for   an   instant,   though   long 
enough  to  display  a  scarlet  letter  on  her  breast. 

And  Hester  Prynne  had  returned,  and  taken  up  her 
long-forsaken  shame !  But  where  was  little  Pearl  ?  If 
still  alive,  she  must  now  have  been  in  the  flush  and 
bloom  of  early  womanhood.  None  knew  —  nor  ever 
learned,  with  the  fulness  of  perfect  certainty  —  whether 
the  elf-child  had  gone  thus  untimely  to  a  maiden  grave ; 
or  whether  her  wild,  rich  nature  had  been  softened  and 
subdued,  and  made  capable  of  a  woman's  gentle  happi 
ness.  But,  through  the  remainder  of  Hester's  life,  there 
were  indications  that  the  recluse  of  the  scarlet  letter  was 
the  object  of  love  and  interest  with  some  inhabitant  of 
another  land.  Letters  came,  with  armorial  seals  upon 
them,  though  of  bearings  unknown  to  English  heraldry. 


296  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

In  ttie  cottage  there  were  articles  of  comfort  and  luxury 
such  as  Hester  never  cared  to  use,  but  which  only  wealth 
could  have  purchased,  and  affection  have  imagined  for 
her.  There  were  trifles,  too,  little  ornaments,  beautiful 
tokens  of  a  continual  remembrance,  that  must  have  been 
wrought  by  delicate  fingers,  at  the  impulse  of  a  fond 
heart.  And,  once,  Hester  was  seen  embroidering  a  baby- 
garment,  with  such  a  lavish  richness  of  golden  fancy  as 
would  have  raised  a  public  tumult,  had  any  infant,  thus 
apparelled,  been  shown  to  our  sober-lmed  community. 

In  fine,  the  gossips  of  that  day  believed,  —  and  Mr. 
Surveyor  Pue,  who  made  investigations  a  century  later, 
believed,  —  and  one  of  his  recent  successors  in  office, 
moreover,  faithfully  believes,  —  that  Pearl  was  not  only 
alive,  but  married,  and  happy,  and  mindful  of  her  mother, 
and  that  she  would  most  joyfully  have  entertained  that 
lad  and  lonely  mother  at  her  fireside. 

But  there  was  a  more  real  life  for  Hester  Prynne 
iiere,  in  New  England,  than  in  that  unknown  region 
where  Pearl  had  found  a  home.  Here  had  been  her  sin; 
here,  her  sorrow  ;  and  here  was  yet  to  be  her  penitence. 
She  had  returned,  therefore,  and  resumed,  —  of  her  own 
free  will,  for  not  the  sternest  magistrate  of  that  iron  period 
would  have  imposed  it,  —  resumed  the  symbol  of  which 
we  have  related  so  dark  a  tale.  Never  afterwards  did 
it  quit  her  bosom.  But,  in  the  lapse  of  the  toilsome, 
thoughtful,  and  self-devoted  years  that  made  up  Hester's 
life,  the  scarlet  letter  ceased  to  be  a  stigma  which  at 
tracted  the  world's  scorn  and  bitterness,  and  became  a 
type  of  something  to  be  sorrowed  over,  and  looked  upon 
with  awe,  yet  with  reverence  too.  And,  as  Hester 
Prynne  had  no  selfish  ends,  nor  lived  in  any  measure 
for  her  own  profit  and  enjoyment,  people  brought  all 
their  sorrows  and  perplexities,  and  besought  her  counsel, 


CONCLUSION.  297 

as  one  who  had  herself  gone  through  a  mighty  trouble. 
Women,  more  especially,  —  in  the  continually  recurring 
trials  of  wounded,  wasted,  wronged,  misplaced,  or  erring 
and  sinful  passion,  —  or  with  the  dreary  burden  of  a 
heart  unyielded,  because  unvalued  and  unsought,  — 
came  to  Hester's  cottage,  demanding  why  they  were  so 
wretched,  and  what  the  remedy !  Hester  comforted  and 
counselled  them  as  best  she  might.  She  assured  them, 
too,  of  her  firm  belief,  that,  at  some  brighter  period,  when 
the  world  should  have  grown  ripe  for  it,  in  Heaven's  own 
time,  a  new  truth  would  be  revealed,  in  order  to  establish 
the  whole  relation  between  man  and  woman  on  a  surer 
ground  of  mutual  happiness.  Earlier  in  life,  Hester  had 
vainly  imagined  that  she  herself  might  be  the  destined 
prophetess,  but  had  long  since  recognized  the  impossi 
bility  that  any  mission  of  divine  and  mysterious  truth 
should  be  confided  to  a  woman  stained  with  sin,  bowed 
down  with  shame,  or  even  burdened  with  a  life-long  sor 
row.  The  angel  and  apostle  of  the  coming  revelation 
must  be  a  woman,  indeed,  but  lofty,  pure,  and  beautiful ; 
and  wise,  moreover,  not  through  dusky  grief,  but  the 
ethereal  medium  of  joy ;  and  showing  how  sacred  love 
should  make  us  happy,  by  the  truest  test  of  a  life  suc 
cessful  to  such  an  end  ! 

So  said  Hester  Prynne,  and  glanced  her  sad  eyes 
downward  at  the  scarlet  letter.  And,  after  many,  many 
years,  a  new  grave  was  delved,  near  an  old  and  sunken 
one,  in  that  burial-ground  beside  which  King's  Chapel 
has  since  been  built.  It  was  near  that  old  and  sunken 
grave,  yet  with  a  space  between,  as  if  the  dust  of  the 
two  sleepers  had  no  right  to  mingle.  Yet  one  tomb 
stone  served  for  both.  All  around,  there  were  monu 
ments  carved  with  armorial  bearings ;  and  on  this  simple 
slab  of  slate  —  as  the  curious  investigator  may  still  dis- 
13* 


298 


THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 


cern,  and  perplex  himself  with  the  purport  —  there  ap 
peared  the  semblance  of  an  engraved  escutcheon.  It 
bore  a  device,  a  herald's  wording  of  which  might  serve 
for  a  motto  and  brief  description  of  our  now  concluded 
legend ;  so  sombre  is  it,  and  relieved  only  by  one  ever- 
glowing  point  of  light  gloomier  than  the  shadow  :  — 

"  ON  A  FIELD,  SABLE,  THE  LETTER  A,  GULES." 


DAY  USE 


[-AY1520G3 


o 


